Legends
by OneDayI'llFigureItOut
Summary: Everything must have a beginning. Masters were once amateurs. Adults were once children. Friends were once strangers. This is just that: the beginning. Of two boys who grew to be men. Of two strangers who became brothers. Of two swordsmen who became legends.
1. Chapter 1

Theirs wasn't a friendship forged like a clap of thunder. It was neither immediate nor earth shattering. Even as their eyes met, there was no inkling, no hint of what they'd grow to mean to each other. There was no violent clash of personalities (though not to say they didn't clash). Their first meeting was. . .unremarkable, and they walked away with the other already trickling from their mind. They were young men. Hot-blooded. Passionate. Intelligent. And prone to anger. But they would grow.

And their friendship would become the stuff of legends.

~.~

 _Many Centuries Ago..._

Darkness hung thick and heavy deep in the Rukongai. Too poor to afford even the wax of a candle, those of the distant districts felt the night more keenly than those from the Sereitei. With the shadows the closest they'd come to a blanket, those of the 78th District wrapped themselves tightly in its embrace. As if the blood and secrets and death surrounding them could be muffled. Like somehow the horrors of the night could be masked by the intangible.

Three hooded figures passed through the streets of the 78th. They were lucky, for in it's greed the shadows swallowed even the light of the moon, masking their cautious and confident progress. Lucky, for even their stride set them apart from those who clung to the walls and crept down its alleys. Had they been spotted they'd have been robbed, beaten, and left for dead. And everything would have been over before it began.

They were lucky. But you could have fooled them.

Swiftly and silently they passed through the reeking streets, crossed—with only the slightest hesitation—over swollen bodies, and left the district as silently as they'd arrived. Just as they crossed the outermost border, a muffled hiccup shattered the twilight stillness. Twin blades tore from their sheaths like the crack of lightening, their owners frozen, ready for an attack. Meanwhile, the third dropped his chin and cooed tensely at his chest, his shoulders taut with fear. Several quiet minutes passed before swords were hesitantly returned to their sheaths.

Lucky again. For the cry of a child, if heard, summoned the vilest of men.

With new urgency, those three phantoms moved off the dirt road and into the dark forest. Silence fell again, interrupted only by the wheezing, watery breaths of the now awake child. It was to the sound of its tiny whimpers that they reached their destination. All three breathed a sigh of relief.

The tiny shack before them was old and decrepit. With rotting wood and questionable shingles, it looked as if a lone breeze would send it folding in on itself. The figure holding the child started forward eagerly before the hand of his companion fell on his shoulder. Keeping him in place, the second motioned to the third. At the cue, he drew his blade and stepped forward, the two behind him waiting anxiously as he opened the teetering door and entered. Time stretched, but he soon came out nodding his head.

The cloak hiding the babe swiftly left the other two and entered the shanty. Whispered words between the last two were shared before the second man entered as well. The third stayed outside as was his place. He was merely a guard, and what happened behind that door—good or bad—was not for his eyes.

Entering the shack, the second man noticed his companion had already lit their candles in the moments he'd been outside. The flickering light cast morbid shadows about the tiny room, making the darkness weigh upon him even more heavily. The scraping of flint was followed by a lit match, and another candle glowed. Even in the dim light, he noticed trembling shoulders beneath the others cloak.

Kneeling down, he pulled the smaller figure to his side and curled his large hand across the babe's back, it's quiet gasps tearing at his heart.

"We made it," he murmured, rubbing soothingly at the infant. He was met with only silence. With a sigh, he slowly pulled back the hood and long, jet-black hair tumbled from its confines and fell across dainty cheekbones. Only then did her watery eyes meet his.

Yes, she was a woman. And that woman was his wife.

"And with only this ancient shrine to show for it," she whispered brokenly. A lone tear fell silently before being brushed away.

His wife was beautiful, body and soul, but despair had sapped the life from her. With every weak cough from their only child, she'd lost a little more of herself. And now? With her sunken cheeks, and ashen skin, and trembling hands? Her beauty was a mere shell of what it had been.

"We've been reduced to chasing the whispers and rumors of the superstitious." Though her words were angry, they were too infused with tears to have any bite.

He pressed his forehead to her temple. "Whatever it takes." His grave words drew her eyes. She nodded in agreement just as their little boy coughed with a cry. Tears silently filled her eyes again as she quietly unwrapped the boy from her cloak and set him before the shrine of Mimihagi as if in offering. His wife settled into a kow-tow and began her whispered prayers.

The man stared at the wooden figurine atop the minuscule shrine. An odd god, for it was shaped like a clenched fist with a closed eye on its back. A simple tunic covered its body—or its arm?—and a band floated above its 'head'. An odd god with odd powers, he'd been told.

Slowly, so slowly he'd barely noticed, what with the candles warm light and his wife's soft pleas, he settled into himself. His breathing deepened, his heart slowed, and his eyelids drooped in time with the flickering candles. With only an absent awareness, he watched as the flames slowed and stretched. Slowed and stretched. As though, like he and his wife, they were reaching out, desperately crying for that little figurine. And slowly, _ever so slowly_ , his eyes were dragged back to the shrine of the little fist-god.

The little fist god with its squinting eye.

The wind, with its gentle rustling, fell silent. The symphony of night time insects hushed. His wife's mumbled prayers died.

And the eye snapped opened.

Terror gripped him at its blank stare. He panted through his flared nose, his lips sealed by an unseen force. A darkness seized his soul and held him captive, and he despaired. He was a caged beast pinned by a predator so monstrous he couldn't even cry out in fear.

And slowly—gods so slowly!—the shadow of that vile god grew and stretched and his torment spiked as he watched it creep toward his son, lying helpless at the feet of the beast. With muffled screams of panic, the man shook with fright. For it looked like a great, dark fist reaching out to strike the life from his tiny body. Too soon, its shadow swallowed the child, softening his outline until only his whimpering cries could be heard.

A pulse of reiatsu shook the shack. A second knocked the breath from his lungs, and a third sent him sprawling, gasping for air. A humming crashed into him so fiercely and deep it ripped a scream from him. His mind was stripped of its reason as he succumbed to his primal fear.

It was to his mindless relief and horror that just when he thought he was to die, he slipped swiftly into unconsciousness.

He woke to the cry of his name. Peeling his eyes open, he saw his wife hovering over him with tears in her eyes. "What happened?" he croaked, sitting up slowly. His head pounded.

"It worked!" she cried. Shifting something in her grip, she grabbed his face and kissed him everywhere. "Look at our boy! Our healthy boy!"

Unsteadily, as if in a dream, he looked at the bundle in his wife's arms. The boy—his son—yawned deep and clear before falling asleep, breathing near silently.

"His hair," he breathed.

"A gift from the gods," she sang, dropping kisses on their son's little face.

A cold sweat broke out across his body. Hesitantly, he turned to face the shrine with its close-eyed fist god.

"My little Jushiro," his wife whispered as an icy chill crept down his back.

 _~.~_

 _That Same Evening..._

Darkness fell in the Sereitei unnoticed by its residences. The night held no such evils for those blessed by its safety, so its swift approach went on without comment. Especially in one particular Noble home.

It was in that home of opulence that a boy could be found in its sitting room atop a plush purple cushion. Across the table, a man much older than he sat in patient contemplation. It was a peaceful silence, broken only by the crackling of a roaring fireplace and the tapping of moving game pieces.

The boy was as diminutive as the man was broad. Round and soft as his elder was hard and angular. With angelic cheeks and curly chocolate hair, his look of intense concentration would have made even the least maternal of women cluck and coo.

The child held no such charm on the older. "Your move, boy," he said gutturally.

The boy's lips pinched. "Yes, Ojii-sama."

Between them sat a go board. Black pieces dominated the board, surrounding their fairer opponent at every turn. The old man sighed as he waited. It would have been obvious to even the most mediocre of players that the boy had already lost. Determination and enthusiasm could only carry the lad so far. Experience, something Yokuto had centuries of, would come with time. No amount of wriggling or whining would change that. Nonetheless, the boy was making marked improvement, so the head of the home was pleased. Whether at home or in battle, strategy was a skill best learned in youth.

The boy had just raised his hand to move when the entrance of a servant distracted him.

"Kyoraku-sama, you have a guest. Shall I send him in?"

The wrinkles on his brow deepened. "Is he unaware of the hour?" he growled. "Who is it?"

"Yamamoto-soutaicho, my lord."

Yokuto Kyoraku, head of the Kyoraku Clan, huffed disdainfully. "Soutaicho? The man's arrogance continues to surprise. Send him up, Isao."

The door slid shut. Steepling his fingers, Yokuto hummed quietly to himself. What could that thrice-damned idealist want now? He already had his school for those Rukongai filth, if it could even be called a school in the first place. A small tug on his sleeve dragged him from his thoughts.

"Who's Yamamoto?" the boy asked.

"A dreamer," he replied tersely. Reaching forward, he rested his large hand atop the boy's curls. "Watch and listen before you speak, boy. Observe first. Ask later."

The boy frowned cutely. "Yes, Ojii-sama," he grumbled, leaning back with crossed arms. Yokuto couldn't stop his chuckle any more than he could stop his unwelcome guest from entering the study.

"Yamamoto-sensei," he greeted gruffly. He'd be damned before calling him something so pompous as soutaicho. "Time must have escaped you. Now is hardly the time for house calls.

Genryusai nodded sharply. "It was important I see you as soon as possible, Kyoraku-sama. No matter the hour."

Yokuto hummed ambivalently, gesturing smoothly for Genryusai to sit. As his guest settled, Yokuto sensed the restless shifting of his grandson. No matter the audience, the lad wasn't used to being ignored.

Their guest was old, thought the boy. As old as Ojii-sama. Caverns burrowed deep into the man's face—lines like his elders. Ones born from frowns and glares. Two scars criss-crossed his balding skull, holding the boy's enraptured gaze. His eyes widened at what must have been a fierce injury.

"I have a proposition for you, as head of one of the Noble Families," the old warrior said over the boy's head.

The young lad drew in a deep breath and held it, a look of deep focus settling on his features. Even he, in his inexperience, could sense the vast presence of this newcomer. Shakily, he reached out with his untrained reiatsu, for this man Yamamoto had yet to be explored enough to satisfy the child's curiosity. After several seconds of red-faced determination and stretching near to his limit, his tiny reiatsu finally brushed the surface of Yamamoto's.

A bolt of fire shot up his nerves and stiffened his body before what felt like a mighty seal slammed shut. Panting, and with eyes wide in wonder, the boy stared heavily at the man whose gaze had been drawn.

It was huge! Larger than anything he'd ever felt! Bigger than Otou-sama's. Bigger than Ojii-sama's! And scorching to the touch. His own reiatsu ached after making contact.

Something flicked his ear. "You know better, boy," his grandfather barked barked. "Keep your damned reiatsu to yourself."

He only rubbed his ear absently. "Yes, Ojii-sama," he said dutifully, eyes still reverently locked on Yamamoto's.

"No harm done, Kyoraku-sama. He learned." His eyes lingered on the boy before turning away. The lad was both disappointed and relieved. "Perhaps a more private venue? One without distractions."

The boy frowned as his grandfather conceded. "To bed, Shunsui-chan."

Young Shunsui Kyoraku's protest was quelled in light of his elder's glare. "Yes, Ojii-sama." And he left.

And all the way back to his room he felt a faint pressure on his reiatsu. As if someone were watching.

 _~.~_

 _Several Years Later..._

The Kyoraku gardens were something of a marvel among the noble classes. Gazonias took root next to plumeras, while the beautiful nicotiana sweetened the air around them. Ivy vines dotted with scarlet morning glories delicately wrapped around stone fountains. The cherry blossom trees littered the paths with their blooms while the mighty pines stoically stood guard.

The Lady of the home boasted of hundreds of species all maintained by her hand and a small crew. During her tours, her fingers trailed lovingly on the bark of the trees and gently pulled the blooming flowers to her nose, daintily sniffing with a pleased smile.

 _Magical_ , the women sighed. _Beautiful_ , the men admitted.

And most definitely maintained solely by the help, they'd whisper smugly.

By one gardener in particular, and a select few of her choosing. Ayaka Ohmae was a gentle, middle-aged woman with soft features and kind eyes. Beautiful? Not really. The trials of life had stolen her youth early, and gray hairs already had a premature presence on her head. Life danced in her fingertips, however, and flowed into whatever she touched; Lady Kyoraku guarded her talents fiercely for it.

It was a compliment, she knew. It wasn't often a servant was able to do something they loved all day.

Leaving the hustle and bustle of busy servants, Ayaka made her way to one of the gardens far corners, gloves in hand. Unfortunately, the more hidden sections of greenery were often neglected for the sake of the more visible. Lady Kyoraku had a show to put on after all, epecially with the upcoming festival. Luckily, the Lady was pleased with what she'd seen, thus allowing Ayaka to care for the patches of plants most in need.

The inner Kyoraku gates loomed higher and higher as she slowly approached them, dwarfing her and even the trees around her. One only had to look upon the Kyoraku gates to know this family valued privacy. Spotting an unruly patch with her sharp eye, Ayaka donned her gloves, enjoying the scrape of its familiar fabric. She'd just settled into her work when a large and heavy sigh above her head startled both her and a nesting sparrow. With a small smile and quiet laugh, Ayaka put her hands in her lap and looked up into the tree above her. She knew of only one who enjoyed the scrape of bark against his back.

"My lord?" She called up, shading her eyes against the sun.

A beat of silence before rustling branches parted and a boy—very nearly a young man—emerged. "Oh, it's just you, Ohmae-san."

Her smile grew at his sheepish grin and poorly masked relief. "Indeed, only me."

The young nobleman disappeared amongst the leaves, so Ayaka returned to her pruning, listening the boy's not-so-silent descent. A quiet thud hinted at his safe return to the ground.

"What are you doing, Ohmae-san?" he asked curiously.

She turned and smiled teasingly at him. "Gardening, my lord." She watched him fight against rolling his eyes.

"I _know_. All you do is garden."

She laughed musically at his put-upon expression. Pausing in her pruning, she pulled a pair of gloves the young lord's exact size from her apron and held them out in offering. "Would you like to assist me?"

He nearly snatched the gloves from her before dropping to his knees at her side. She began instructing and guiding him, watching as he absorbed the information like a sponge.

The young Kyoraku had an endearing and enthusiastic interest in her work. So much so, she'd begun carrying around a pair of gloves for him in case she came across him in the garden. He didn't have a natural talent for it, she thought, but he was learning and followed her instructions very well. Conversation died as her directions ceased, the quiet between them a comfortable one.

"Are you going to tell my parents where I am?" he asked, breaking their companionable silence as she knew he would.

A stubborn weed pulled free. "I'm afraid I've no idea where you are, my lord," she said, eyes twinkling. "My attention tends to wander when I garden." Though he didn't answer, she saw his smile.

A few seconds passed as they together pruned the overgrown patch. "You should wear a hat, Ohmae-san," he said suddenly.

She shook her head fondly at the swiftness of his thoughts. "Oh?"

"It's hot. You'll burn."

She laughed again at his serious tone. "I'll keep it in mind, my lord. Though you should consider getting one yourself, if you'll forgive my saying so. You're nearly as dark as I."

He waved a dignified hand. "You're forgiven." She turned away lest he see her amused smile. It always tickled her when the young Kyoraku boy played at being Lord. Ayaka was by no means young and had been a servant for the Kyoraku's most of her life. She remembered the boy's birth and had fondly seen him grow with each passing year. She could scarcely imagine him as a grown man, let alone an esteemed nobleman of the honorable house of Kyoraku.

The conversation died naturally, and Ayaka left the lad alone with his thoughts, as that seemed to be his preference of late.

The boy could charm a Hollow with his grin, Ayaka knew as much. Especially since he often and successfully turned his charisma on her. A sweet child, who she'd seen raise a lost kitten behind the backs of his family.

He was already proving to be handsome. Though baby fat clung to his face, one could tell it was just barely keeping its grip. With his steel gray eyes and thick unruly curls, all the servants said he'd grow to look identical to his father and grandfather before him. Tall, broad, and angular. The Kyoraku blood ran deep in this one, and it wouldn't be long before the young noblewomen would swoop upon him like a pack of harpies.

His ceased movements caught her attention. Glancing at him from the corner of her eye, she watched as he stared into the distance.

And yet, for all his laughter and smiles and good looks, there was a sadness in him. A sadness that cloaked itself in anger, for she'd seen how viciously he sparred with his brother.

She turned her eyes back to her work just before a muffled thump sounded beside her. It certainly wasn't proper for a member of the Kyoraku House to lay in the dirt, but Ayaka held her tongue. She was only a servant.

"I know I should be in there. With everyone. I just don't want to be."

Ayaka continued gardening quietly, for now they were getting to the heart of it. He very rarely hid in the garden unless something troubled him.

"There's no point in me going, you know," he said matter-of-factly. "Kenzo-ani's starting to take on more responsibilities so Okaa-san will be showing him off to everyone. Not that I care or anything," he added quickly at Ayaka's look. His cheeks reddened and he sat up. "It's just," he paused, shrugging rather hopelessly. "If no one's even going to _look_ at me why should I go? I'm only the second son." He stared at her oddly.

Ayana's heart fractured, and she couldn't help reaching for him. He didn't react when she touched his shoulder or lean away when she slowly drew him into a hug. His breathing hitched in her neck once before settling.

"I'm too old for hugs, Ohmae-san," he mumbled beneath her ear.

She rubbed his back soothingly. "Of course, my lord." His arms shifted to wrap around her tightly. Their hug was warm and sweet, and her heart swelled when she felt him lean into her. "You're not just a second son, Shunsui-kun," she said, startling the boy into staring up at her. She cupped his young face in her small, soiled hands. "You are kind and you are strong." Indeed there were rumors he'd already surpassed his elder brother's skill. Prodigy, they whispered. She brushed a curl away only to watch it settle back into place. "You have so much good in you. Even if others cannot see it."

The boy's eyes shimmered for a moment before they dropped. "I just-" he cut himself off with a sigh, "wish I didn't have to go," he finished lamely.

Ayaka placed a feather-light kiss on the boy's crown. "I know, my lord."

"Shunsui," the boy blurted. Ayaka's confusion reddened his cheeks. "Could you call me that?" he asked, shifting his weight. "Shunsui?"

The middle-aged gardener smiled gently. "As you wish, Shunsui-kun."

~.~

Festivals of any kind had a rather rabid effect on the people of the Soul Society. The common folk flooded the narrow streets with shouts and laughter, all in search for pleasure and distraction to break up the monotony of their existence. If one was lucky, one lived in the Sereitei and was in the employment of a noble family, or at the very least lived on their land. There was safety in such an environment, one that allowed for the optimal festival experience with all the drinking and carousing one desired without the added paranoia of danger lurking at every corner.

The nobles were no different in their pursuit of pleasure, but more than that, festivals had become a pissing contest among the Great Houses. Who brought the best food? Drink? The most attendants? Whose daughter was the most stunning? Whose son the most accomplished? It was a competition of comparison where there was no clear victor and everyone was a judge. No one was exempt from high society's harsh standards.

 _~.~_

 _A Few Years Later..._

 _That Same Festival..._

"Are you feeling okay, Jushiro-ani?"

Jushiro turned around from his seat on the porch. In the doorway of his room stood a girl a bit shorter than himself with a suspicious frown on her face and dark ebony hair tied up into an intricate and fashionable style. Affection cooled the irritation that churned his belly. "I'm fine, Kimi," he sighed, rising to his feet. Entering his room he shut the door, quieting the heavy wind that had been tearing across their land.

"Well then hurry up. We're getting ready to leave and the servants need help with the twins." She left the doorway with an expectant air, knowing her elder brother would follow her, and he did so with little prodding. He lengthened his stride, catching up quickly. "I don't know why the servants don't just leave the boys to us. All they do is make them hysterical," Kimi scowled angrily as he came up beside her.

"It's not their fault, Kimi. They're just doing their duty."

She whipped around and glared at him. Jushiro rolled his eyes, and Kimi smacked him in the chest in response. "Watch it, Nii-chan." He rubbed his chest amusedly.

Servants bustled back and forth, stopping with a swift bow to their young lord and lady before hurrying on to complete their duties. Each show of respect was acknowledged with a nod without ceasing their conversation. Or more like without a halt in Kimi's complaining. As they moved through their estate, it wasn't long before the two eldest of the Ukitake family heard the screams and wails of two of the youngest. With a quick resigned and determined look, Jushiro and Kimi sped up in silence.

A door in front of them suddenly slammed open, and a severe looking boy with a pinched frown and coal-black hair in a low ponytail emerged. He scowled down the hallway as if the two howling children could sense his displeasure before noticing Jushiro and Kimi. "Shut them up," he said, his clipped tone belying the obvious anger on his face. "I can't even think with all their whining."

"How about instead you shut that damn book behind your back and get ready yourself," Kimi hissed, her ire getting the better of her.

Isamu's ears heated and eyes narrowed. Sensing the oncoming eruption, and before Isamu could offer a scathing reply, Jushiro spoke up. "He can read as long as he's ready in time," he said, shooting a disapproving look at his sister. She huffed at him indignantly. "But we do need you to herd Kenshin and Kazuko. Otou-san is getting everything prepared to leave, and Okaa-san is probably with Masami."

With a curt nod and a sharp glare at Kimi, Isamu slammed his door shut. Kimi looked ready to kick it in when Jushiro dropped a steadying hand on her shoulder. "You really need to control yourself," he said, squeezing her tightly when she tried to shake him off. "You're not going to find a husband with that attitude of yours."

"Piss off," she snapped, pinching his hand harshly to get him to let go. "You sound like Otou-san."

Ignoring the sharp pain in his hand, Jushiro chuckled lightly before heading toward the still-shrieking twins. "Perhaps because he's right."

The screaming grew louder as they got closer and peaked when they entered their twin brother's room. Both were only semi-clothed, and their cries bounced off the walls, reverberating maddeningly in Jushiro's mind. Several servants stood by attempting to calm and coerce the little ones into their clothes, the strained look on some and the panicked look on others only heightened the distress of the young ones.

Kimi strode in aggressively, the servants releasing the boys and backing away at her approach. Paying them no heed, she marched right up to the crying children and halted in front of them. Jushiro knew just from her back that she was restraining from raining veritable hell down on the boys. Leaving her to her devices, and the boy's quickly dying screams, Jushiro approached Sayuri Kurosawa, the twins head attendant. At his approach Sayuri bowed low in embarrassment. "Forgive us, my lord. It seems we've upset them." _Again_ hung unspoken in the air.

With a wave, Jushiro dismissed her concerns. "Kimi and I will tend to them. I'm sure Okaa-san could use some assistance," he hinted with a genial smile.

"I'll see to her, my lord." She left swiftly, her gaggle of helpers following like ducklings.

Jushiro turned and saw Sora and Masa standing beneath Kimi's cold glare, rubbing their wet eyes with tiny hands. Jushiro couldn't help the softening of his gaze, but he remained silent, knowing they'd seize upon his weakness in a heartbeat.

The twins were identical in every way. The same round face framed with the same black hair and the same pouted lips. They were still young enough that Okaa-san wanted them dressed the same, so unless one knew them well, they were impossible to tell apart. Only the Ukitake's and the boy's attendants could distinguish the two. Sora, for all his crocodile tears, was far more outspoken and stubborn than his twin. Masa, though quieter, led them both into far more mischief than they'd have gotten into by themselves. Individually they were a handful. Together, they were impossible.

"Sorry, Kimi-ane," Masa sniffled.

"No you're not," Kimi snapped. "If you were, you wouldn't do this over and over again." The boy's eyes filled with tears again.

Gently gripping his sister's elbow he said, "Why don't you go check on Isamu? I'll get these two ready and meet you out front."

She shot him a look that said she knew he felt guilty for their youngest brothers' tears. Not able to deny it, Jushiro shrugged and could only smiled sheepishly. Kimi snorted in response before turning without a backwards glance and leaving.

With her angry presence gone, Jushiro turned and focused on the little ones in front of him. They looked up at him guiltily, obviously unsure whether their eldest brother was upset with them. With a sigh, Jushiro squatted until he was eye level with the twins. "Have you calmed down?" They both nodded furtively. "Good. Now get dressed. We're leaving soon." He mussed their hair to their obvious delight.

"Okay, Jushi-ani," they chorused before plopping down to pull at their tousled clothing.

Once they'd finally righted their outfits, Jushiro took each in hand and led them out. The hallways were quiet. Catching up the babbling twins in his arms, Jushiro quickened his steps, his long strides eating the distance, for the silence could only mean the rest of the house was ready to depart. With the added pressure of his pace and the twins squeezing his chest, his lungs tightened painfully. Coughing lightly, Jushiro cleared away the invisible obstruction with not a hitch in his step. It was so minor an occurrence it barely registered.

Exiting onto the front lawn, only slightly paying attention to the twins chatter, Jushiro and Masa and Sora entered the sea of people just inside their inner gate. Attendants and cooks and guards and all others bustled about with shouts and clattering and laughter.

"My lords?" a voice called, immediately catching Jushiro's attention. "Your parents are waiting for you at the gate." Jushiro thanked the servant politely, ignoring the twins as they playfully yanked his white hair.

It took only moments to locate the rest of the Ukitakes.

Yuudai Ukitake was a whirlwind of movement, stopping only long enough to greet his eldest and youngest sons with a warm smile before continuing on, shouting orders as he went. He was a tall, lean man with tousled black hair and thick brows to go with his full beard. Yuudai was a man of action, and these grand ventures out of the Ukitake land provided him with just enough excitement to get him bouncing in his shoes.

Lined up outside the gate were two carriages, and it was there Jushiro spotted his mother and the rest of his family.

Hana Ukitake had a maternal beauty. If anyone were meant to be a mother it was she. Kindness could be found in her smile. Patience in her every word. Hana carried herself with a grace and dignity not found in most women, even as a tough mother with high expectations for her children. And each of them truly longed for her approval. It was in the midst of her children, giving them all one last look-over, that Jushiro saw her. Each child was being assigned to a carriage all while she patiently answered the non-stop barrage of questions she received from the servants of her home. And dead asleep in her arms, little Masami's face scrunched cutely against her.

Next to Hana, Kimi had just finished herding Kazuko and Kenshin into the last carriage when she noticed Jushiro and the twins. "Masa," she said as Jushiro lowered the two to the ground, "climb in with Kenshin and Kazuko. Sora, you'll be with Jushiro-ani."

To Jushiro's surprise, Masa simply nodded and climbed up into the last carriage. Apparently he'd not yet forgotten Kimi's anger. "You're with kaa-san and tou-san, Jushiro-ani," she ordered before climbing into the second carriage. "If you see Isamu, tell him he's in this carriage with us," she threw over her shoulder before shutting the carriage door.

A little hand settled into his own, and Jushiro looked down into Sora's wide eyes. "Let's go sit, Jushi-nii," he said, giving Jushiro a gap-toothed grin.

Jushiro eyes crinkled at his little brother. "Go ahead and save me a seat. I'm going to speak to Okaa-san." Little Sora pouted before slipping out of his eldest brother's hand and heading to the first carriage. Keeping an eye on him to make sure he got in without difficulty, Jushiro headed over to his mother.

She'd just sent away a servant when she saw him. "Jushiro," she exclaimed, a wide grin splitting her face. Quickly running her eyes over him and his festival attire, she reached up to cup his face. "My handsome son!"

Jushiro rolled his eyes at her enthusiasm. "Thanks, Okaa-san," he said, reaching out to take his sleeping sister from her. "I'll take Masami so you and Otou-san can finish up."

Hana gratefully handed her over before pressing the back of her hand to his face. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? There's no shame in it if you need to stay home this year."

Jushiro shifted Masami to one arm and pulled his mother's hand from his face. "I'm fine," he told her, not completely able to mask his irritation. He'd already missed last year's festival due to his illness. A heavy hand suddenly clapped him on the shoulder.

"Leave him be, Hana. He said he was fine," Yuudai boomed, shooting a wink at his startled son's grateful look.

Hana glared at her husband. "Oh be quiet, you great baboon. You'll wake Masami."

Yuudai leaned over Jushiro and dropped an affectionate kiss on his youngest's sleeping brow. "A horde of Hollows couldn't wake this one," he smiled, running a finger lightly down her cheek.

Hana humphed impatiently. "Ignore your father and get into the carriage. He has things he needs to be doing," she hinted with a glare.

The Ukitake Head threw back his head and laughed. "And to think I was wondering where Kimi gets her attitude," he declared before hurrying away, his wife hot on his heels.

With an amused sigh, Jushiro carried his dead-to-the-world sister into the front carriage and sat next to the already chattering Sora. Luckily, it wasn't as much a conversation as it was a childish monologue, and Jushiro didn't need to contribute much. Instead, he tucked Masami's warm body into a more comfortable position and settled in to wait. It was to be a long ride and there was much to think on.

 _~.~_

 _Later That Same Evening..._

"Head of the Ukitake Family, Lord Yuudai and his wife Lady Hana with sons, lords Jushiro, Isamu, Kazuko, Kenshin, Masa, and Sora, and daughters, ladies Kimi and Masami."

 _Damn. What a mouthful_ , Shunsui thought as he nursed his drink in a corner of the vast hall, watching silently as the Ukitake's entered and began mingling with the crowd. That minor noble family had always been a source of mild entertainment for Shunsui, as it seemed there was a new addition to their numbers each year.

However, they were merely a distraction, and not even a decent one at that. Turning his attention to far more pressing matters, the young lord scanned the crowd over the rim of his cup searching for one person in particular. Spotting a bold purple kimono, Shunsui grinned and threw back the rest of his drink, quickly replacing it with another as he made his way through the crowd.

Every few paces someone called him over, successfully distracting him from his target. With men, there were pounded backs and raucous laughter, inappropriate jokes and sloshed drinks. With the woman, there was giggling, and flirting, and not-so-innocent touching before Shunsui stole away after planting a parting kiss wherever she allowed him.

He worked a crowd easily and enjoyed the adrenaline that drove him forward, that pushed him into toeing the line of propriety. He loved seeing just what he could get away with. And he got away with so very much.

It was in the midst of a particularly dirty joke that a flash of violet caught his eye. Though he continued to the punchline without a hitch, his gaze locked onto another's.

Hinaka Tsukuda, with her painted eyes, teasing smile, and revealing purple kimono, easily caught the attention of every hot-blooded young man in her vicinity, and Shunsui was no exception. He felt her gaze wander up and down his heated body before shooting a searing look his way. Seemingly unaffected by his own returning stare, she turned to her companions and giggled lightly before leaving the circle. With not even a backwards glance, she exited the hall.

Quickly wrapping up his joke to the roaring approval of those around him, Shunsui excused himself and headed lazily to where Hinaka had disappeared. Several attempted to catch his attention but he waved them off or ignored them entirely.

Once out from under the eyes of the crowd, Shunsui loped down the hallway, peeking around corners and opening doors in an attempt to find her. A few servant girls caught him searching a closet, but he winked roguishly at them and watched them giggle out of sight.

"Looking for someone?"

He whipped around swiftly. Hinaka stood just behind him, with her hands clasped innocently behind her back, a ploy to push her chest out. Not that he was complaining. Shunsui chuckled lightly. "Only for the most alluring creature at this party," he said with honeyed sweetness, approaching her slowly.

"Oh?" She raised a teasing brow. Her painted lips parted for enchantingly white teeth. "And who might that be, my dear Shunsui?"

Shunsui snorted in response. "You're false modesty doesn't fool me, Hinaka-chan," he mocked teasingly, pulling her against him. His thoughts muddled now that he had her soft curves pressed against him. "You've bewitched me," he murmured.

"Now see who lies," she teased back before pressing her lips lightly to his. She attempted to pull away but he followed her, her soft groan heating his blood. Twisting her head away from him, Shunsui placed undeterred, warm kisses down her neck.

"Do you plan on accosting me in the hall, Lord Kyoraku?" she asked breathlessly.

Chuckling into her collarbone, Shunsui slid up until his lips brushed her ear. "I plan on accosting you anywhere you let me, my lady." His eyes closed in bliss when she shivered against him. Suddenly, her hand pushed against his chest, making him lean back.

Her heavy breathing drew his eyes to her chest. "Perhaps another time," she teased, grabbing his large hand in her little one. "Come with me. I've learned a trick or two since I saw you last." He couldn't have stopped his body's reaction even if he'd wanted.

She swiftly led them to a room far from the party for an hour's worth of pleasurable distraction.

~.~

Too soon for Shunsui's taste, he left the warm arms of a woman and was out surrounded by the racket of the evening's festivities. The party had spilled out into the garden in his absence and was going just as strongly as when he'd left. Laughter and music filled the air as did fireworks and the sizzling sounds of dinner. Children scampered around the adults, their squeals and games an entertainment to all, while their parents looked on in amusement, drinking their fill of sake as the night wore on. He was very nearly disoriented with all the colors and lights and noise. His dear mother had certainly outdone herself.

After his extremely pleasurable workout, Shunsui felt relaxed and very lethargic. He strolled lazily amongst the crowd until he found a table with servants pouring cups of sake. Grabbing one for himself, he toasted the servant with a lazy grin, tossed it back, and picked up another before turning to wander the crowd again.

A large hand gripping his upper arm stopped him in his tracks. "How is it the party's barely started and you've already managed to bed a whore?" a low voice hissed in his ear.

A simmering heat boiled in his stomach, but Shunsui plastered a smile on his face. "Now, now Nii-chan," he said genially. "Are you listening to rumors again?"

The grip on his arm tightened painfully. "You've already embarrassed our family, Shunsui," Kenzo growled. "Keep your damned whoring under control. The Kyoraku House will not be home to any bastard children you sire."

When Shunsui said nothing in return, Kenzo gave him one last disgusted look before stalking away, the crowd swiftly hiding him from view. Mood thusly ruined, Shunsui scowled and downed his second cup darkly. Kenzo had such a remarkable talent for pissing him off.

A cruel smile twisted his lips. A pregnancy scare. Now that would be funny.

The hours wasted on. What had been exciting at first quickly grew tedious as Shunsui consumed more and more alcohol to fuel his exuberance. As his boredom and inebriation increased, so too did his frenzied desire to stay entertained. He quickly bounced from group to group, leeching what little stimulus he could before moving on to the next.

He'd just begun feeling bored again when he noticed his brother some distance away. His mood fell once more. He was about to turn away and drown himself in more booze when he noticed Kenzo speaking with a dark-haired girl.

Now, Shunsui prided himself on being a high-functioning drunk. But this late into the evening and after as many drinks as he'd had, even _his_ thoughts were sluggish and unfocused. However, he was _pretty sure_ he'd seen his brother several times over the past few hours speaking to that same girl. His curiosity was piqued. And to his great pleasure, he watched his dear older brother bow in farewell to the girl before she left his side and made her way down one of the garden paths.

With barely a thought spared for his actions, Shunsui headed toward the object of his sudden drunken interest.

~.~

With each step she took, the raucous sounds of the festival dimmed until only the loudest cries of celebration could be heard. Soon, she was surrounded only by the serene sounds of nature and the crunch of gravel beneath her feet, much to her relief.

Kimi was a girl accustomed to noise. Her family was a large and boisterous bunch that encouraged a semi-chaotic atmosphere even amongst the help. She herself contributed a fair deal to the racket, having a fuse unapologetically shorter than most. In fact, she'd say the quiet generally grated her nerves and set her teeth to grinding. However, though she thrived in the mayhem, even she needed time for herself.

Aimlessly following the lit path, Kimi quickly came across a bench at the edge of a scenic little pond. Pleased at her find, she lifted the hem of her kimono and quietly made her way to her new seat, eying each of the aesthetic blooms around her. The Kyoraku's certainly had a magic touch. She couldn't say she was interested much in flowers or anything of the sort, but even she could find her surroundings pleasing to the eye.

Knowing she wasn't being watched, Kimi sat heavily and kicked off her shoes, stretching her toes with great satisfaction. With a hearty sigh, she slouched into the bench, though taking great care to not ruin her hair. The servants spent so much damn time on it, she'd be pissed if it got ruined.

Finally comfortable after what felt like an eternity of fake giggling and polite exchanges and pleasant smiles, Kimi allowed herself a frown. She'd lost track of Jushiro fairly quickly upon arrival and her best friend, Akira Masuda, wasn't able to attend this festival, so Kimi had to resort to socializing with people she normally avoided.

One in particular was rather persistent. Kenzo Kyoraku. Oh, how Akira would squeal. With his strong jaw and hooded eyes and broad shoulders, he could work the girls her age into a frenzy if he so desired. He was a stoic man, not prone to smiles or frowns or any other displays of emotions. Level-headed, the people thought, as one who'd soon lead the clan should be.

Kimi had just slipped away from a group of insipid shrews and was wandering aimlessly when he'd first approach her. He'd introduced himself-as if she didn't know him already-before coolly offering to give her a tour of the grounds. Obviously unable to decline, and rather startled at his attention, Kimi followed him. He was polite and refined, offering his hand in assistance whenever appropriate and never touching her longer than propriety demanded. Conversation was light, and he listened politely when she spoke, chewing on her words before responding in kind.

Having been raised with six boys, romance tended to occupy very few of her thoughts. There just never seemed time to daydream of such things. She was swiftly approaching marriageable age, however, and she knew she was particularly eligible. With smooth skin and her mother's delicate features, Kimi was well aware of how many stares she caught, and just how much it appealed that her family was particularly fruitful in a world where children were particularly scarce. She was no fool. Marriage was a political tool. Not a means for love.

She could definitely do worse than catch the attention of the most eligible bachelor in the Seireitei, she thought with a noisy yawn. It certainly would benefit her family.

The crunch of approaching footsteps signaled someone's approach, and Kimi groaned softly at the interruption. As the noise grew louder, Kimi slipped on her shoes and sat up straight, turning to face the newcomer, hoping they'd simply continue past without noticing her.

No such luck.

"Hellooo," a deep voice rumbled musically. A man a bit older than herself came into view. Noticing her, a wide grin split his face and he bowed unsteadily. "I hope I didn't startle you, my lady."

Kimi raised an eyebrow at her obviously inebriated guest, saying nothing. Undeterred, the man turned and approached her, leaving the path without concern. Making sure to mask her annoyance at his intrusion, Kimi waited for him to come closer.

It was painfully clear the youngest Kyoraku stood before her. He was nearly identical to his brother in stature and girth, though the youngest's hair hung shaggily to his ears while the older's was worn short. Kenzo and Shunsui obviously hailed from the same line. However, though their similarities were unmistakable, their differences were impossible to ignore.

One could tell just by his gait that Shunsui was the more relaxed of the two, if his shit-eating grin didn't already give it away. His over-the-top movements coupled with his flair for the dramatic made him seem bigger than he was. Rumors abounded with this one, Kimi knew, his life of indulgence second only to his father before him. It seemed Shunsui bore his sins and vices with little shame and much celebration.

Akira would fall for him in a moment. Just from his reputation, Kimi knew him to be an ass.

He halted a polite distance from her. "Forgive me, but I seem to be lost. These gardens are massive and I'm afraid I've gotten a bit turned around." She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Was he serious? Shunsui looked as helpless as a pup. He suddenly brightened with childish glee. "If only I had a beautiful escort to guide me through this maze!" he cried dramatically, playfully peeking at her from the corner of his eye.

Definitely drunk, Kimi thought as she rose from her seat. "Odd that a Kyoraku would get lost in his own garden," she said, casually smoothing the front of her kimono. He froze as she strode past him. Maybe if she distanced herself now nobody would see her with him. Shunsui Kyoraku's reputation was a mile long. She most certainly didn't want to soil her own.

"Stunning _and_ perceptive," he sheepishly complimented from her back. He pulled up beside Kimi and grinned down at her. "I shall count myself lucky for every moment I have your attention."

Scarcely containing her rolling eyes, Kimi continued on without comment.

"And _mysterious_ ," he continued, obviously not put off by her silence. "I come across such a lovely creature in my own garden, one who already knows my name. And yet here I find her unwilling to grace me with her own." He reached down for her hand, stopping her. "Doesn't quite seem fair to me," he smiled charmingly, gently tugging her a step closer and capturing her in his steely gaze.

He was as smooth as the rumors said, and while she couldn't say she was entirely unaffected, if her pulse was anything to go by, Kimi was far from losing her wits. She shot him a light glare before sliding her hand from his. "Ukitake Kimi, as it pleases you, my lord," she said evenly, bowing politely before ducking around him.

"An Ukitake!" he cried exuberantly before rapidly praising her family and loudly expressing his fondness for them.

Luckily for Kimi, she'd been moving swiftly and could now see the fringes of the festival between the trees. With the youngest Kyoraku yakking away at her heels, Kimi sped up though Shunsui hardly seemed to notice. A white head among a small circle of nobles caught her attention.

"Jushiro," she called, interrupting whatever flirtation Shunsui was spouting. Her brother turned at his name and spotted her in a moment. He turned to excuse himself and headed toward them. Kimi nearly sighed in relief. Jushiro was unnaturally good at being available when she needed him. She felt her older brother scan her face briefly before offering a cordial smile to Shunsui.

"Good evening," he greeted pleasantly.

Shunsui, having suddenly fallen silent at her cry, nodded politely in return.

Feeling calm with Jushiro's steadying presence, Kimi remembered her manners. "Kyoraku-sama, may I introduce my elder brother, Ukitake Jushiro. Jushiro-niisama, I've recently had the pleasure of meeting Kyoraku-sama," she said, smoothly gesturing to each of the men.

"A pleasure to finally meet you, my lord," Jushiro said, politely bowing to the noblemen.

Shunsui waved a dismissive hand. "Likewise, likewise," he rushed. "I must tell you what a courageous sister you have!" he cried out, throwing an arm across Kimi's shoulders. She stiffened though held her tongue while Shunshi prattled on. "There I was, betrayed by my own garden, lost among its blooms, when out stepped this enthralling women to save me and bring me home!" he declared, just before planting a loud, smacking kiss on Kimi's cheek.

Kimi eyes popped as his lips left behind a warm imprint.

"Keep this one safe, Ukitake-san," he jokingly whispered to the shocked speechless Jushiro. "After I tell everyone of her selfless acts of bravery, men will lay prostrate at her feet."

Ignoring the dangerous red tint creeping up her face, Shunsui took hold of her shaking hands and pulled them once more to his chest. "Remember me fondly, my dear," he bemoaned, dropping a kiss to her knuckles. From his stooped posture, they were able to lock eyes. "I look forward to the next time you sweep me off my feet," he said coyly with a wink.

Tearing her hands away, Kimi's ineffective glare did nothing to dampen his energy, and with an exaggerated bow, the nobleman departed, quickly losing himself in the crowd.

~.~

Shunsui grinned madly as he downed another cup of sake.

How thrilled he'd been when he'd watched the Ukitake girl wander his garden, slouch on his bench, and curl her feminine little toes. Even the frown on her face had excited him for all he'd seen were feathers begging to be ruffled. And to kiss her in front of her older brother? Shunsui's fingertips still tingled from the rush.

Shunsui felt a familiar, scalding glare pierce between his shoulder blades as he threw back another.

Perhaps he imagined the dark giggling in the back of his mind.

~.~

The two Ukitake's were silent for a beat before Kimi let out a long-withheld, frustrated shriek. Fortunately, with the chatter and music hanging thickly in the air, nobody noticed the fit being thrown.

"What the hell," she hissed. "What the actual _fucking_ hell!" Jushiro laid his standard calming hand on her shoulder, though his amused expression did little to settle her. "You think this is funny? What kind of big brother are you? You're supposed to be pissed!"

Jushiro shrugged sheepishly. "You seemed to have everything under control," he admitted. His brows pinched. "He didn't do anything did he?"

Kimi scowled at him. "Are you telling me you _didn't_ notice how annoying he was? That he kissed me?"

Jushiro tossed his head in laughter, placing her arm in the crook of his. "He's harmless, Kimi-chan," he teased. "Just don't think about it anymore."

"Easy for you to say," she pouted as she followed her brother into the crowd.

The evening went on with little other excitement. Kimi stuck to Jushiro as they wandered, occasionally running into family and mutual acquaintances. Unfortunately for Kimi and her anti-social tendencies, Jushiro was her complete opposite. He was friendly and kind with a generous sense of humor that drew people to him like a magnet. He responded to their flocking with patient amusement, making time for all who approached. It was annoying. But to her great satisfaction, neither of the Kyoraku's attempted to speak to her for the rest of the evening, and, even with their constant crowd, she felt herself grow lighter with each passing hour.

Jushiro, however, was another story.

It wasn't obvious. He still smiled and laughed. He spoke without hesitation and with a grace Kimi could never hope to emulate. He was indeed making a very apparent effort in maintaining normalcy. But no one knew Jushiro better than her. And something in the way he was carrying himself set her senses ringing.

Kimi held her tongue as Jushiro entertained the people around them. Privacy was key. Jushiro would never admit to anything with a crowd surrounding them. And so the evening wore on while Kimi bided her time.

~.~

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

Startled from his thoughts more from Kimi's angry tone than her actual words, Jushiro looked ahead and saw Kimi several feet ahead of him. "What?" he blurted.

Kimi rolled her eyes. "You stopped walking," she grumbled, stepping back toward him.

Smiling self-consciously, Jushiro said, "Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking." Instead of her coming to his side like he'd anticipated, Kimi planted herself in front of him and crossed her arms.

"Something's been bothering you since before the party began," she waved her hand at his confused look. "Oh, stop playing stupid. Tell me now or I won't shut up about it."

Jushiro swallowed thickly and quickly glanced around. They'd somehow managed to wander to where the children were playing, and they were much more devoted to their games than the conversation between he and Kimi. "It's nothing, Kimi. Really," he muttered.

"Out with it," she demanded fiercely. "I don't know why you even thought I wouldn't notice."

After spending several seconds avoiding her eyes, Jushiro finally looked at her. Her posture was angry but her eyes were earnest. His shoulders sagged.

You either loved or hated Kimi, and Jushiro most definitely loved her. She was harsh and brash, but you could find no one with more honor or loyalty. Obstacles barely slowed her down when she fixated herself on something, and he knew she'd never ignore a problem she believed could be fixed. It was foolish to hide something from her, for there was no two people who knew each other better than he and her.

He shifted his feet nervously, and she raised an eyebrow. Jushiro sighed, ignoring the slight hitch in his breath. "I know what you're going to say," he began slowly. "But it doesn't much matter to me. I've made up my mind." She eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm going to become a Shinigami."


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.**

* * *

 _Six Months Later..._

 _Kyoraku Estate..._

It was quiet for once in the Kyoraku estate. No guests were scheduled for that evening, nor did any parties hover on the horizon. For the servants, it was a time for high spirits and much leisure as the family they served left them mostly to their own devices. Chores were accomplished with much laughter and with little rush, for they were a joyous bunch that regularly enjoyed each other's presence. Good company, it seemed, significantly shortened the work day. That is until a member of the family entered their lowly sphere. Chatter would die a swift death on their tongue and eyes would fall as low as their bows when their lords and lady passed by. So consistent and true was their charade, Lord Shunsui Kyoraku passed by a gaggle of servant women completely under the impression the Kyoraku line employed only the meekest and unobtrusive of servants.

As the youngest of the Kyoraku lords continued his aimless stroll he whistled a hilariously lewd tune, chuckling quietly to himself as he came to his favorite verses. He was rather enjoying himself. The sun was shining, the air was crisp. His feet were bare, and his yukata, soft and loose. With only a single responsibility for later that evening, it was quickly becoming one of his very favorite kinds of days: idle. And, as if the very gods were smiling down on him, he'd seen neither hide nor hair of his family. He grinned and further mussed his shaggy, unkempt hair. A comb had yet to meet his head that day, and Shunsui knew he looked particularly manic. With any luck, the sight of his messy appearance would only further drive his mother to an early grave.

He'd just begun to wonder what exactly he'd wear to her funeral when a disheveled maid darted out of a nearby room and slammed the door behind her. The tie in her hair did little to restrain her curls, and it was as she attempted to tame her locks and simultaneously straighten her yukata that she spotted Shunsui and squeaked loudly. The nameless girl dropped into a low bow.

"Forgive me, my lord. I didn't see you. If you'll excuse me," she said without breath before darting down the hall with nary a backwards glance, continuing to adjust her wrinkled clothes as she went.

Her behavior was disrespectful, he knew. But as he turned to face the room she'd vacated, he could very reasonably guess the reason for her swift departure. It was none of his business, he told himself as he stared at the door. He didn't care what the servants did nor what they were commanded to do. Didn't care that the girl was younger than himself. Certainly didn't note the thin film of tears in her eyes or the shimmer of sweat on her brow when she met his gaze for but a moment.

None of his business.

But after hesitating for who knows how long, an unseen force lifted his hand and pressed it against the door, hovering in the air as it slowly slid open. Without setting a single foot inside, the familiar stench of alcohol and sex flooded his senses and gave him pause.

It was a spare room. One of the many finely furnished areas whose only occupants—normally—were the servants who cleaned them. But today the air was heated and stuffy, several bottles laid haphazardly on their sides, and a pile of sordid sheets, twisted and damp, entangled a large form on the ground.

"I said I was done with ya, di'nt I?" a low voice rumbled.

Shunsui's gut twisted as he leaned against the doorframe. "Already, Otou-san? And here I thought you'd be happy to see me so early in the day," he said casually, eyeing the roiling hill.

The mound shifted and stirred until the hulking form of Haruto Kyoraku emerged to squint irritatingly at his second son. "Shunsui?" he questioned, Shunsui recognizing the thickened speech of a drunk man. "The hell you doin?"

Condescension tinged Shunsui's smile. "Just making sure my father doesn't drown in his own fluids," he quipped lightly. His father snorted in disdain, gingerly untangling himself from the blankets that shackled his legs. He lost grip of the sheets as he rose to his feet, unashamedly baring his nakedness to his son.

Haruto Kyoraku was a monster of a man, even for a Kyoraku. He towered over his sons, with legs like the trunks of trees and shoulders as broad as a bear's. In his prime, Shunsui was sure he was something to behold. However now, with his gluttonous appetite for all things sensual and his dedicated slothful living, he had softened and sagged. Where once he might have embodied the pinnacle of masculinity, he now possessed the soft mold of a true nobleman.

Shunsui raised an unimpressed brow. "Careful Otou-san. I wouldn't want you to slip."

Haruto fastened his blood-shot eyes on Shunsui and spat at his feet. "Watch your tongue, boy," he growled. Unconcerned, Shunsui lifted both hands in a mockingly placating manner.

The two Kyoraku's fell silent, eyeing the other. With a dark chuckle, the elder broke eye contact and stooped to pick up the fallen sheet. "There a reason you're botherin' me, Shunsui?" he asked, wrapping the blanket around his thickened waist.

His jaw clenched. "I saw the girl you bedded," Shunsui said, folding his arms as his father staggered heavily toward him. "Wanted to make sure she didn't wear you out, old man."

Shunsui cringed at Haruto's hearty laugh. He clapped his son's shoulder as he moved past. "Please. A virgin. Barely knew what she was doing." Anger set his blood boiling as he followed his father who boldly staggered down the halls in his minuscule covering. "You've become quite the adventurous soul, I hear," his father boomed.

Shunsui's consciously ignored the servants who dotted the halls, lest they spot his own embarrassment. Haruto, in his nudity, didn't spare them a glance. "Oh?" Shunsui replied.

"I heard rumors ya found your way to The Quivering Hills," he said smugly over his shoulder. He quirked an amused brow. "Not a place for little boys."

His skin heated in humiliation. His father's whoring was legendary, with a reputation so tainted a harlot would blush. It shouldn't have surprised him to hear his father mention a brothel by name. It shouldn't have. But it did. And it left Shunsui wondering just how many women he and his father had shared.

Shunsui felt nauseous.

"It is good to know my father and brother can bond over their similar taste in trash."

Haruto was quick to turn around while Shunsui followed reluctantly, for he now knew the gods had only been mocking him. The owner of that hardened voice was all too familiar.

Kenzo stood before them with regal condescension, somehow managing to look down on both father and brother. The manager of the estate, Kai Nishimura, a thin man made up of sharp angles, stood just behind his master—an ever loyal dog at heel. Kenzo's nose scrunched in refined distaste. "You both reek. I can smell you from here." Shunsui didn't bother pointing out he'd bathed that morning. That the stench of depravity clung only about their naked father. Kenzo turned to Kai. "Escort Lord Kyoraku to his chambers. He's tainted my home enough for today."

The thin servant bowed low to Kenzo. "Yes, my lord," he squeaked reverently. He twitched his way past Shunsui and gave a short dip to Haruto before gesturing down the hall.

Haruto glared fiercely at his eldest son. "I need no escort in my own home, boy," he snarled.

Kenzo locked burning eyes with his father. "Watch how you speak to me, filth," he bared his teeth, all sense of noble restraint lost. "Or I'll drain your accounts, strip you of your title, and ship you off to work as a temple servant." Haruto's jaw snapped shut angrily. With an animalistic growl, he pivoted on his heel and marched away, his sheet billowing behind him. Kai hurried after him, straightening his lord's every drunken stagger along the way.

Shunsui had kept quiet as he'd watched the power struggle, though he'd known immediately who'd walk away in defeat. Mere weeks prior, a major upheaval had shifted the political landscape. Kenzo, heir to to near the entirety of the Kyoraku name, had somehow successfully received his full inheritance. An inheritance only bestowed upon the death or retirement of the patriarch. An inheritance that included all the Kyoraku estates, fortunes, and titles. In a matter of hours, Shunsui's elder brother had gone from eldest son of Lord Haruto Kyoraku, Heir Apparent to Lord Kenzo Kyoraku, Head of the Kyoraku Clan, Master of the Eastern Gate. In the game of blood and politics, Kenzo was now second in power only to that ancient Kuchiki relic.

And Shunsui was clueless as to how the bastard had done it.

With the object of his scorn gone, Kenzo turned his scorching glare to Shunsui. The new Head's residual anger was palpable and, though Shunsui's focus sharpened, he maintained his relaxed pose, grinning casually. "Well, you certainly showed him," Shunsui declared lightly.

Kenzo tilted his chin up in disdain and silently turned back the way he'd come. He'd only gone a few steps before he halted, dashing Shunsui's hope for minimal contact. When Kenzo turned back, he looked thoughtful. "I wonder how long it will be before I summon someone to take you away."

Shunsui's smile vanished.

Kenzo's face returned to its stony default. "You're a poison, Shunsui," he said quietly. "Just like our father. Get in my way and I'll destroy you."

He turned and left, with Shunsui glaring daggers at his back. "I'll see you this evening, Kenzo-ani," he called out, darkly satisfied when his brother hesitated before continuing silently down the hall.

~.~

 _That Same Day..._

 _Ukitake Estate..._

"Enough," Kohei Nakata declared. "We're done for today."

Jushiro allowed the point of his blade to fall, forcing his labored breaths to even out and smooth over. "I can go longer," he panted, impatiently swiping damp hair from his face. He shook out his numbed hand. Many years had passed since Kohei had gone easy on him, and his strikes now fell heavily against Jushiro's defending steel.

"We're done," the stocky man repeated forcefully, turning and walking away.

Jushiro scowled at his mentor's broad back. "I haven't had an attack in months. Why do you insist on so little training?" he demanded.

Kohei turned and saw Jushiro hadn't moved. He arched a bushy brow. "Put your blade away, my lord." He sheathed his own and turned away from his white-haired pupil once more.

The fire that had boiled stagnantly in his gut for months exploded. Gathering his reiatsu to himself, Jushiro struck out and slammed it against Kohei with all the force he could muster. Kohei stopped dead, much to Jushiro's roiling satisfaction. "You call me 'lord' yet refuse to treat me as such," he said coldly, infusing his tone with every ounce of noble disdain he possessed. "Learn your place, Nakata. Or I will teach it to you."

Kohei turned with a sudden wrathful scowl, his shorter frame barely containing his rage. The heat of it burned Jushiro's face. "Ya gonna teach me, boy? I'll put ya on your ass!" he roared, his near-forgotten Rukongai accent riding the wave of his anger.

With pride on the line and fire in his veins, Jushiro tore across the dozen feet between them and struck with a previously unknown fury. Kohei met his blade with equal fervor and they did battle, anger fueling every strike, parry, lunge, and block.

Jushiro was sick of it. Sick of the concerned looks and the pitying smiles. Of the useless assurances and empty words. To not fight him? To tell him to drop his blade? How fucking _dare_ he. Jushiro was not a weakling to be coddled!

They came together with a flurry of blades and scowls and pushed apart with snarls and spittle. It was ugly and fierce, not Jushiro's usual display of control and finesse. And on it went. On and on, until the adrenaline dried up and the rage cooled down. Jushiro's blows still held power, but the speed of his strikes slowed and it wasn't long before it was all he could do to defend against Kohei's relentless barrage. Even then he continued, refusing to bend. His pride would allow him no such weakness. Until finally he could no longer keep up. A desperate lunge was met with a fierce block and a fist the size of a boulder connected with the side of his face.

And suddenly Jushiro could fly.

The resounding thud was followed by a rush of expelled air, and Jushiro fought the instinctual urge to panic. Lying still, he waited for his lungs to painfully jump start again before heaving a desperate breath. An invisible band tightened around each lung, and Jushiro knew even while muddled that he'd be fighting off the effects of this fight for days.

Suddenly, Kohei was in his face. Dazed, it was all Jushiro could do to keep his eyes open.

"About damn time. Now stay still, boy. Don' move ya head. I wasn't holdin' back when I hit ya."

Several minutes later, armed with ice and a wall to lean on, Jushiro glared at his smirking mentor. "You've been egging me on for weeks?" Next to him, Kohei chuckled under his breath. "I'm glad one of us is amused," he muttered, wincing as he shifted the ice against his face. The burgeoning bruise sapped what little charity he had. "Any particular reason? Or do you enjoy being an ass?"

Kohei's lips split in a wide grin. "Swearing at the help are we, my lord? How very crass."

Jushiro scowled and turned away, childishly ignoring his snickering swordmaster. The silence stretched for a few minutes, leaving Jushiro to stew in his ire.

"Your father told me you wanted to join the Gotei 13."

Jushiro clenched his jaw, frustration stealing his words. He'd heard enough from his parents. From Kimi. He didn't want to hear it from Kohei.

"We discussed it at length," Kohei continued, and Jushiro could feel him studying him out the corner of his eye. Jushiro stayed resolutely silent, glaring at the ground between his feet. He heard Kohei sigh seriously. "I won't lie to you; you'd be at a distinct disadvantage, my lord. Few warriors last long with their own bodies fighting against them as yours does. Should your comrades find out, they'll see you as a liability. A weakness in the ranks."

Jushiro shot a glare at his mentor.

He continued without pause."You would need to train. Nonstop. For the rest of your life, my lord, without ever letting up. You'll need to prove yourself over and over and over again. Power will make people listen." His words echoed in Jushiro's mind.

Power. With that simple word a wave of subtle desperation set his limbs to restless twitching. He wished he could say honor was what he craved. Or perhaps dignity. Something his parents would be proud of. Anything was better then the seductive allure _power_ had over him.

His darkened mood marred his tone. "So you don't think I can do it." Of course not. Was it his destiny then to be weak? To be a victim?

"I didn't say that, my lord." Jushiro whipped his head up so fast the world spun. "You are exceptionally skilled for your age. Continue at this speed and you'll achieve mastery quickly. And your reiatsu?" Kohei looked over and snorted at Jushiro's wide-eyes stare. "I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt. You have potential, my lord. You have the drive. And now, after that little display," he smirked at Jushiro's reddened ears, "I know you have the passion. About time too. You were quickly becoming the dullest opponent I've had the misfortune of fighting."

~.~

Dinner at the Ukitake's was usually a boisterous affair. And it definitely still was, Isamu reassured himself. Masami was gurgling as babies tended to. The twins were volleying food at each other like normal, and Kazuko and Kenshin had their heads together, giggling loudly to themselves. Even Kimi and he were exchanging their normal glares and barbed words.

But something was off. Isamu's eyes narrowed as he silently studied the older half of his family.

Jushiro was sitting at their father's right, as was his place as eldest, and across from their mother. But not once had he seen or heard them speak to one another. The tension hung heavily about them and Father's behavior was more erratic as a result. Even Mother, ever calm in the face of conflict, sported tight shoulders and a painful smile.

Isamu sipped slowly from his cup and stared over the rim.

Kimi and Jushiro hadn't been speaking for weeks now. He would have been blind not to have noticed as Kimi wasn't exactly one to stew silently. She'd been stomping around the estate like an enraged Hollow, attacking anyone who'd committed the slightest transgression. Even as he watched, Kimi knocked over a pitcher, spilling the contents into Jushiro's lap. No one in the family paid much mind to it, barely sparing it more than a glance as something always spilled at dinner, but Jushiro shot an uncharacteristic glower at Kimi. She raised a challenging brow to him and haughtily turned away. He exhaled slowly through his nose, exercising a level of patience Isamu was certain he'd never possess. Servants, meanwhile, flew to the heir immediately, hastily dabbing his soaked clothes with rags.

Jushiro turned to their father for the first time that evening and mumbled something to him around the servants, but the twins let out matching shrieks, stopping Isamu from catching the exchange.

"Will you two shut up," he hissed angrily at the twins, though both paid him no mind.

By the time he'd refocused, Jushiro had risen, and the servants had fallen back immediately. He gingerly exited the dining hall, holding his damp clothes away from his body.

Things had better return to normal soon, thought Isamu as he watched Kimi sulk in her chair. The longer this went on, the more likely it was he'd be drawn into it. And it was most certainly none of his business.

~.~

The roaring fire in one of the Ukitake sitting rooms crackled quietly as the heir stared heavily into it's smoldering depths. It was quiet. He was certain dinner had passed a while ago, for the sun was swiftly approaching the horizon, and he found himself hoping he'd not be discovered. He hadn't returned to the table after changing his clothes, so his peacemaking mother was no doubt in search of him. Jushiro's frustration over Kimi, his parents, and his own weakness boiled too close to the surface to safely interact with anyone, as his behavior with Kohei had proven earlier.

Months had passed. Months. And still his parents side-stepped his questions and ignored his requests with little grace and all-too-obvious panic. He saw it in their widened eyes and shared glances. Did they think so little of him? Did his father think him weak? His stomach rolled sickeningly and his skin heated angrily. Could that be it? His father—the one who stood by him against his mother's overbearing concern—thought him incapable?

But Kohei said he spoke with the Ukitake head. Surely he spoke of Jushiro's talents, of his skill. Jushiro cursed himself for not asking if his father had been convinced.

A knock at the door startled Jushiro. His palms tingled as he called in the knocker, and he knew if he were to look, little half-moon indentations would be pressed into his palm. His parents entered the sitting room slowly, and Jushiro couldn't stop from scowling at their obvious trepidation.

"Yes?" he asked rudely.

Yuudai and Hana looked at each other. "We wanted to talk to you," his mother began slowly. "Too make sure you're alright."

Jushiro snorted loudly and turned back to the fire. No doubt he'd feel guilty for his behavior in a few hours, but for now he took sophomoric pleasure in it.

There was rustling as his parents sat on nearby cushions. "You obviously still wish to attend the Academy, Jushiro, but please understand our concerns," his mother said earnestly, but still Jushiro kept his eyes on the fire. To look into his mother's concerned eyes was to admit defeat.

At his unresponsiveness, Hana hopelessly turned to her husband.

He crossed his arms. "Of course we are worried about your health, Jushiro," he said lowly. Jushiro's head whipped around and he glared at his father, feeling betrayed. His father met his heated stare stonily. "It's a hard truth. But one that cannot be ignored. You are sick, son. And no amount of anger will change that."

Jushiro leaned back and crossed his arms as well, stubborn anger only encouraging his disrespectful behavior.

Yuudai studied his son for a moment before sighing wearily. Tucking his chin to his chest, he began to absently stroke his dark beard, ignoring the the hateful looks of his son and the pleading eyes of his wife. "This is obviously not a passing fancy as we'd hoped," he murmured to himself.

Jushiro, searching for anything to fuel his anger, found more kindling in those words, and he scowled as a result. Did they really think him so flighty?

No one spoke as Yuudai continued to stroke his beard. "Convince me," he said finally. Yuudai met his son's suspicious eyes. "You have responsibilities here, Jushiro. To myself, your mother, your siblings, and as heir to the Ukitake estate and fortunes. Tell me why I should allow my heir to risk his life fighting for something he doesn't truly understand."

Hope widened his eyes and he sat up straight. He resisted the urge to babble immediately, knowing that any absent-minded statement would be used against him. Jushiro quickly organized his long-since prepared argument. He explained swiftly and methodically his plan on staying on top of his studies, both at home and while at the Academy. It was a simple one, one that only took a few moments of explanation, it would just leave him little free time. Yuudai continued to silently stroke his beard.

He swallowed thickly. "As far as my siblings," he continued, "they still have Kimi, and they are far more obedient to her."

Hana lifted her hands earnestly. "That's not the concern, Jushiro. Your brothers look up to you. As much as your father and I try, you're the one to keep Kimi grounded." She shrugged helplessly and dropped her hands into her lap. "And your father will miss you. I will miss you," she murmured as her eyes filled with tears.

Guilt twisted his gut, but determination stiffened his spine. "I'd miss you too, Okaa-san," he mumbled. "And everyone else, but-," he cut off and stared down into his lap. "I need to do this," he said after a lengthy pause."

"And if something were to happen to you?" his mother pressed. "What if you get hurt, or sick, or _killed_?" At his silence, Hana frowned. "I suppose you value your pride so much you're willing to sacrifice your family's peace of mind." His guilty yet resolute silence made his mother's lips purse.

Angry tears filled her eyes, and she opened her mouth to speak again before her husband laid a quieting hand on her. Jushiro watched the incomprehensible conversation they had with their eyes. His mother's teary gaze fell to her lap.

Yuudai turned to his son, leveling a steady gaze at him. "You gave me your plan but didn't tell me why I should allow you to go, Jushiro." Several seconds passed and it became clear Jushiro either wasn't going to or couldn't answer. Yuudai's jaw clenched before he sighed defeatedly. "I know you feel you have something to prove, Jushiro. And something tells me it has little to do with us." Jushiro tensed. Yuudai stared heavily at him before closing his eyes and sighing again. "I'm not entirely pleased with your request. However," he rushed, seeing Jushiro open his mouth to argue. "You are a grown man. Perhaps it is time to allow you to act as one."

Shock silenced the room. His mother, however, quickly found her voice. "It seems this decision will be made without me," she sniffed as a tear fell down her cheek. "If you'll excuse me." And she left, swiftly and tearfully.

As the door clicked shut, Jushiro felt his face pinch and he looked down at his hands. Indeed, the little half-moon imprints were still indenting his skin. A small discomfort compared to the pain he knew he caused his mother. Doubt once more twisted his gut.

Yuudai broke the silence with a quiet groan. Jushiro glanced up and watched his father rub his eyes. "I'll speak to your mother," he said heavily. Wearily rising to his feet he looked at his son. "Be patient with her, Jushiro. She loves you desperately." Slowly, as if the weight of his decisions was crushing down on his shoulders, Yuudai gripped the handle of the door before turning back to his son. "If this is truly what you want, know that you have made your life that much more difficult." Jushiro nodded once and watched his father's face slowly fall before he left, quietly closing the door behind him.

~.~

 _Kyaraku Estate..._

 _Same Evening..._

Shunsui leaned forward and studied the rack of practice blades with mock solemnity. The blunt edges shone offensively in the dimming light, and thus Shunsui found himself already bored of them. Sensing behind him his brother impatient presence, he smirked to himself. His hand hovered over each blade in turn as if to choose it before tutting at some unseen flaw and moving to the next. He heard even his mother sigh from across the yard. Just as he'd finally decided which glorified butterknife he'd duel with, a dark thought rose from the back of his mind.

He straightened as if struck by lightening and turned to his irritated brother, holding up a finger as if struck by brilliance. "Kenzo-ani, I have an idea," he cried out dramatically.

Kenzo, standing ramrod straight in his dull training gi, raised a thick brow. "Not interested," he deadpanned.

Shunsui chuckled. "Come now, Nii-chan. Aren't you curious?" he asked gleefully before grabbing hold of a sword behind him and twirling it about with practiced ease.

Unimpressed, Kenzo only raised a brow at him.

Lunging forward as if to spear an enemy, Shunsui let loose a melodramatic sigh. "I'm bored!" he whined before rising from the stance. "You can't possibly enjoy sparring with the blades of children."

Kenzo only continued to ignore him, stepping around his brother to select his own.

His very soul hissed in frustration. Scowling, Shunsui clapped a hand around Kenzo's forearm, halting him. He smoothed his features to innocence by the time Kenzo leveled a wrathful glare at him. "Surely you're not holding back for my sake? After all," he said with a humorous shrug, "I've already proven my proclivity against you." Oh, how the jealous rage in his brother's cold eyes delighted him.

"What do you want, Shunsui?"

His fingers twitched against his brother's skin in excitement. "Is it not obvious?" he asked casually, releasing his brother's arm, the imprint fading even as he watched. "I want to fight, Kenzo-ani. To truly cross our blades." His heart pounded at the thought as his lips peeled up across his teeth. "Don't tell me you don't long to see my blood."

Kenzo, ever obvious in his disgust, wrinkled a proud nose at him. "How asinine," he mocked, continuing to swiftly scan the choices before him.

Frustration made Shunsui grit his teeth. "A wager, then?" he offered swiftly, that ever present subconscious presence driving him forward. "How about for that little woman of yours?"

Kenzo's hand froze. Shunsui's eyes gleamed at his victory.

"I don't know what you-,"

"Don't play the fool, Nii-chan. It doesn't suit you," Shunsui interrupted delightedly. Kenzo hadn't turned to him yet, but he could practically see the rage boiling through his clenched fists. "Our bet wouldn't be lasting, of course. It's not as if I want to marry her," he nearly gagged at the thought. "I'd merely like a moment of her time," he said lightly. He swallowed his elated laughter at his brothers stiffened shoulders.

Kenzo finally whipped around. " _You son-of-a_ —"

"An hour," he said loudly, drowning out his brother's venomous insult with a grin. "When I win, the next time I've the pleasure of seeing the girl, I get an hour with her. Alone."

His brother turned positively red with fury. "You'd taint her reputation on a _whim_?" he hissed, for they both knew what an hour with a man like Shunsui would do to her name among the nobles.

Shunsui chuckled lewdly. "Any tainting done by me will be at the lady's request." Could it be his ever-in-control brother was shaking? "Of course, if you win—and what a mighty _if_ —I leave her alone."

"And if I refuse?" he spat shakily, his fury sapping what control he had of his voice.

Shunsui fought his desire to clap giddily for he had his brother trapped. Kenzo only saw him shrug with a secret smile. "I suppose I'll just behave as usual, then."

With nostrils flared, Kenzo looked like an enraged bull. "Very well," he snarled. Snatching up his own personal blade, he stalked to the center of the courtyard, stretching his arms as he went.

His skin heated in excitement as he watched Kenzo begin his warm up. His blood began to sing, and he did precious little to stop the quiet, manic giggling from bubbling past his lips. An almost drunken stupor settled like a blanket across his mind as he staggered to his position.

Better than sake—better even than women—was the promise of spilled blood. As Shunsui unsheathed his own sword, his limbs twitched in anticipation. He forced his body to still as he languidly watched his brother prepare himself.

 _Hurry up._

~.~

 _A week later..._

" _If aaall the young lasses were locks on a gate, then I'd be the key to insert and rotaaaaate_!" Shunsui sang warbly as he stumbled and tripped through the land of his estate. The earth beneath shifted and swayed, sending him headlong into trees as he struggled to stay upright.

An evening well spent, he thought sluggishly, only just avoiding the raised roots of the large oaks and the freshly trimmed shrubbery that lined the path. There was a girl—well, several girls—with long hair, and soft skin that did such a lovely job of occupying his evening. The only pleasure he took in leaving was knowing they'd miss him in his absence. What was that girl's name?

"My lord?"

Startled out of his drunken thoughts, it was all the young Kyoraku could do to stay upright. Turning as swiftly as possible without tipping over, he found Ayaka on her knees next to a small hole in the ground. She'd frozen at his loud arrival with dirt caked on her arm up to her elbow and a startled look on her face, a sight that would have normally amused the inebriated young noble but now only served as a metaphorical ice bath. Suddenly, and unfortunately, more level-headed, Shunsui couldn't help but notice the cloying scent of perfume and alcohol that clung as tightly to his clothes and skin as the women themselves did.

Ayaka's gentle face wrinkled charmingly as she gave him a sad smile. "Good evening, Kyoraku-sama."

Finding it difficult to meet her warm gaze, Shunsui grinned painfully and glanced away. "You know better than that, Ohmae-san," he said carefully, forcing the words past his thickened tongue.

He peeked back to see her smile widen, much to his relieved delight. "Of course, Shunsui-kun." His obnoxious grin fell back to a boyish one for this was a script they'd kept since he was a child.

Unfortunately, her smile was short-lived and it gave way to lips pursed in saddened displeasure. "You don't look well, my dear." His rolling stomach suddenly came to the forefront of his mind and he fought the urge to heave in front of her. Normally he'd have no qualms, but not in front of Ayaka. He'd be mortified.

At his silence she sighed. "Come. Let me make you some tea. It should settle you."

The short walk to the estate took far too long. Shunsui's feet refused to sober at the same pace as his mind, and he knew he was tripping and stumbling far too often for a man normally so sure-footed. Having to struggle to keep up with a near-elderly servant would have been humiliating had Shunsui not been more focused on not vomiting at Ayaka's feet. Ayaka didn't speak and simply kept pace with the young lord. Though sweet, Shunsui knew she was not naive. There was no way she couldn't know of his activities for the last several hours.

Finally they arrived and Shunsui sent up a grateful prayer to whoever was listening that he hadn't made an embarrassment of himself. Following Ayaka's lead, Shunsui trailed behind the servant in confusion for they passed the Kyoraku's magnificent dining hall and we're headed for one of the servant's doors. His curiosity piqued as Ayaka passed through, and it was with a newly invigorated step that Shunsui followed her.

It took only a moment to realize he'd arrived in the mess hall for the staff.

"I know this is far less than what you're accustomed. Forgive my presumption, my lord, but I'd feel guilty using one of the Kyoraku sets to make tea for myself."

"It's fine," he said absently still taking in his surroundings.

It was a large room, nearly as large as the Kyoraku dining room but far less grand. The table was just as long, for there were far more servants than family members, but instead of polished cedar that shone even in the darkness, it seemed to be a mere slab of wood one would find on the forest floor. Someone just screwed on four longer-than-average legs and called it a table. Shunsui approached it curiously. It was much higher than he was used to, coming up to his waist, and he stared questioningly at Ayaka. If not for the chairs lining it's sides, Shunsui would have been at a loss as how to sit.

At his obvious confusion, Ayaka spoke. "Some of the young men hid the table as a joke," she said with a put-upon smile, "and replaced it with this silly version. It's been missing for several weeks now, so everyone began bringing their own stools to sit on. I'm beginning to suspect the boys have lost track of it."

And now that Shunsui was looking, none of the stools seemed to match another. All were simple, bare of any ornament or cushion, but some were taller than others, some had a back to lean against, and others still were obviously formed by a skilled craftsman. Ayaka pulled out one said chair for him, and he sat cautiously, unsure if it would even handle his weight. It creaked alarmingly, but Ayaka turned away to begin preparing tea so Shunsui figured it wasn't out of the ordinary.

How on earth could they have managed to hide an entire table? Shunsui grinned at the thought. He'd have to be on the lookout from now on.

Unfortunately, his humor died swiftly, for the pungent smell of Ayaka's brew had wafted into his face and set his gut to churning. Even as she brought over a pot and two simple cups, Shunsui was battling with the familiar urge to lose what little food he'd eaten.

"You'll have to forgive me again, my lord. For having the gall to sit as your equal," she said formally, shooting him an apologetic look as she poured first his cup than her own.

A strange churning, completely unrelated to the alcohol he'd consumed, twisted Shunsui's insides into knots. _Don't say that_. "It's fine," he mumbled, forcing himself to sip the tea despite his stomach's protests. The concoction was sharp and thick, and he prepared himself for stomach cramps but found his gut settling instead.

Unwilling to break the silence, partially because he was attempting to chug his cup without seeming boorish, and partially because he didn't want Ayaka's perceptive eyes on him, Shunsui instead busied himself by studying his surroundings over the rim of his cup. Though the room was impeccably tidy, Shunsui saw multiple signs of wear and tear what with the creaking cupboards, worn dishes, and faded walls. The cup he drank from was smooth yet cracked, and he could feel ridges and splinters digging into his elbows as he leaned against the table. The ceiling was low, making Shunsui, used to vaulted ceilings, feel slightly claustrophobic.

Even so. Shunsui glanced out of the corner of his eye at Ayaka. The very picture of an unassuming lady, she sat quietly with eyes half-closed as she enjoyed her tea. Her gray hair was tied up simply in a servants style and worn with a dignity only the oldest of women seemed to possess. Even in her worn yukata, with grass stains on its knees and dirt on its collar, Ayaka shone radiantly in Shunsui's mind's eye. Had he his way, he'd shower her with everything she could ever want. Even give her the title of Lady, for he could think of none more worthy of the honor. He simply couldn't help this quiet and—dare a young man say—tender affection he had for her.

 _And yet_ Shunsui thought as he looked around that room he'd never set foot in again. She belonged here. Not because she was poor or broken or undeserving of anything better, but because it was simple. Beautiful even, in its antiquity and rougher edges. Though only she sat with him now, it was as if her presence sparked his imagination, allowing him to hear the boisterous sounds of hollering and laughter. He could see servants rushing in and out, back and forth. All while Ayaka sat by, serenely sipping her tea. It all came together, a woven tapestry of time passed in that hall and of the people who sat at that table, and through it all he could just see Ayaka watching it all carry on with patient maternal pleasure.

Shunsui set down his tea, confused at the tightness in his chest. As he fiddled with his cup, he felt Ayaka's soft gaze on his forehead.

"I'm sorry, Ohmae-san," he murmured to his cup though his words traveled easily in the silence.

"Whatever for, my dear?"

He couldn't help shifting in his seat. "That you-," he cut himself off, wary of the lump he could feel rising. Only when he had forced it down did he continue, "had to see me like this." He looked up and met her steady gaze. "I'm not fit company right now, I'm afraid."

She continued to study him until he could no longer bear looking at her. Instead, he dove into his cup, half-expecting (half-hoping) for sake to wash across his tongue.

Undeterred, Ayaka touched his forearm. Though she carried herself as a lady, the rough callouses gently scraping at Shunsui's skin gave her away. It wasn't until Shunsui tore himself away from studying her hands and looked at her that she spoke. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, Shunsui-kun. You are grown and may live however you wish." Her thumb stroked his arm soothingly with earnest eyes. "But if it pleases you to hear the request of an old servant then hear this, my boy: Be safe. You're far too precious to be endangering yourself needlessly."

Shunsui's eyes stung and he turned away from her quiet request. After what had happened with his brother, there was little doubt that Ayaka was the only one who considered him _precious_.

A gentle hand brushed away his hair. "Shunsui-kun, look at me." It was painful and creaking, but slowly Shunsui brought his gaze back to her. Ayaka's eyes shone with unshed tears as she shook her head and clicked her tongue. "You make things so difficult for yourself, child," she sighed wearily, moving her hand from his hair to his cheek. Her affection stung like the bite of an insect and he turned away swiftly, feeling her settle both hands on one of his forearms. Even such minimal contact felt like sandpaper against his flesh and he fought the urge to tear himself away from her. Ayaka's feelings were important, and he didn't want to hurt them.

It wasn't her fault she cared for a monster.

Several minutes passed in silence before Ayaka slowly pulled away and began to sip her tea, and after a long while he followed her lead. "Your brother is healing well," she mentioned calmly.

For a moment there was relief before a sudden fury tore through Shunsui, and he very nearly crushed his cup.

"The physicians expect he'll make a full recovery."

A rage from a part of him he'd only just now discovered erupted. He wanted to howl and scream and tear his clothes. _How dare he_ —Shunsui pummeled that thought down fiercely as if it were a tangible enemy. Deeper and deeper he shoved at this sudden wrath for he'd never voice that thought. Not even to himself.

"I don't remember asking for a report on my brother." He snapped, a corner of his heart regretting his harshness even as he spoke.

There was a beat of silence before Ayaka spoke. "Forgive me, my lord. I overstepped," she murmured.

He glared at the top of her head, threw back his tea, and slammed it onto the table. Ayaka still sat calmly, head down and hands folded in lap. A proper lady now bowed as a servant. He clenched his eyes shut, fisting his hands in his lap. _Sorry. Sorry. Sorry_. He heard her clothes rustle and suddenly her small arms wrapped around his shoulders and head, pulling him gently to her chest. Even in his anger, Shunsui drank deeply of her affection, allowing himself a moment of indulgence, guiltily enjoying a comfort he didn't deserve.

His brothers loathing glare and broken body came to mind, and he jerked away from Ayaka, rising to his feet. "I'm too old for hugs, Ohmae-san," he said coldly, glaring above her head.

He rose swiftly and departed, leaving a saddened old woman in his wake.

It would be two decades before he spoke to her again.

* * *

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Review if you have the desire. I love knowing what I can work on!

FYI: just some things for you guys to be aware of. Each story I write I usually have a sort of writing goal in mind. One of the main ones for Legends is accurately portraying a deep friendship between two male characters (sorry for those who ship these two. I'm not headed that way). Being a girl, it's a bit challenging to get into their heads, and I'm hoping you can give me some advice as I go. Especially if I have any male readers, don't hesitate to hit me with You're Writing Them Like Girls! type of review. Lol.

The second goal I have (and the last I'll put in this note) is to do justice to Jushiro. I feel like a lot of stories paint him as this sickly, feeble, super-nice-guy who has all the character depth of a puddle in the Sahara. No thank you! Jushiro is a BAMF that has battled his body since birth and has ended up one of the most powerful and longest lasting captains in the Gotei 13! That little f***er shouldnt be messed with! (Sorry for the language, I'll get off my soapbox.) Anyway, I would like it if you were on my case about it. Don't let me slack off and fall into that trap.

Sorry for the long note! I'll try and keep them shorter in the coming chapters.


	3. Chapter 3

_A Month Later_. . .

Daisuke Doi was almost sliding open the office door before he realized his master had fallen at least a half dozen steps behind. Confused—as he quite frequently found himself—Daisuke turned and eyed the frozen man who, though similar in age, was of a vastly higher station. "My lord?"

The young lord didn't respond, and Daisuke's anxiety spiked. Though Lord Shunsui Kyoraku was by far the easiest of his masters to please, Daisuke still avoided him. It was nothing personal. Nobility simply made him nervous. Their presence had a nasty habit of sending all intelligent thought or deed far from his mind. Now especially, what with Lord Shunsui's uncharacteristic brooding, Daisuke was at a loss. And also stuck. Having not been dismissed, Daisuke could only stand silent and try to get his perspiring under control.

It wasn't until several painful, uncomfortably moist seconds had passed that the young lord approached. At his continuing silence, Daisuke summoned up his shaky nerve. "My lord?" Amazing how a dry mouth could make the utterance of a simple question near impossible.

Lord Shunsui jerked from his thoughts and shot a mildly surprised look Daisuke's way. The servant's face heated as he dropped his gaze.

"You're free to go." Lord Shunsui's jovial tone was absent, leaving only a cautious foreboding beneath his words.

Daisuke, however—elated as he was—paid this inconsistency of character little mind. He bowed swiftly and ducked down the hall, greatly relieved to be away from him. The young lord fell quickly out of sight, and Daisuke eagerly put him also from his mind.

~.~

Heaving a mighty sigh, Shunsui bolstered himself up enough to slide open the door to his brother's office. The noise from its tracks deafened his heightened senses, and Shunsui felt the attention of the room's three occupants snap to him. He strode in with a smile, almost deliriously pleased his brother had yet to show. "Good afternoon, men," he cheered, plopping himself down on a plush cushion. All three had leapt to their feet when he'd entered and now seated themselves again with good-afternoon-my-lords and yes-my-lords.

To his immediate left sat the ever-twitching manager of the estate, Kai Nishimura, looking nervous as always. His intelligence was assumed, of course, as his position required, but Shunsui cared little for it. With his watery eyes and sharp, needle-thin limbs, Kai was far too annoying for Shunsui to ever treat him kindly.

"Your brother will be here shortly, my lord."

Shunsui turned to the speaker, Tsubasa Nishimoto, and smiled genially. "No rush," he declared to the head of the guard. "I can't imagine I've been summoned for anything important." He chuckled, sharply aware of how the other two shifted in their seats. Tsubasa only nodded stiffly.

The head of the guard was approaching old age with a powerful body and a sound mind. Few on staff could claim Shunsui's regard, but Tsubasa was one of them for his steadfastness and frankness of speech. Not one to hide the truth in word or in deed, Tsubasa's expression had Shunsui's stomach twisted into knots.

Shunsui was just about to speak to the final man, Takumi Masuda, manager of the Kyoraku footholds (who Shunsui fondly—if uncomfortably—referred to as the resident _noh_ mask) when the slam of the office door startled the managerial staff to their feet and Shunsui's heart to his throat. "Good afternoon, my lord," Takumi said blankly. Silence met his greeting.

Shunsui would have risen. Honestly. As the Head's younger brother, it was only right to show him basic respect. But the sudden pressure in his chest and weakness in his knees kept him firmly seated.

"You look well, my lord." Kai's tone dripped honey.

Frozen as he was Shunsui instead strained his ears, listening as his brother crossed the room with a pace as even and deliberate and commanding as ever.

"Sit."

His staff near collapsed to their cushions in their haste to obey. Shunsui's adrenaline spiked at his brother's voice and his stomach knotted tighter as he came into view. Ever composed, ever regal, Lord Kenzo Kyoraku walked around and stood behind his desk, glaring down at his brother with punishing fury. Kenzo's glaring disfigurement nauseated Shunsui, and he fought to school his face to impassiveness.

It had been about a month since that horrific spar, and since then Shunsui had desperately tried to put Kenzo and the fight out of mind. Even as he'd heard of his brother's recovery, he'd avoided Kenzo like the plague. His ravaging guilt was far easier to ignore when his brother was out of sight.

The Kenzo before him was not the Head from a month ago. He was deathly pale, even more so when compared to the angry, puckered scar that raggedly carved its way across his face and down his neck. Shunsui's stomach lurched for—though it was ugly and deforming—the memory of inflicting it was fresh and sickening. He recalled how disgustingly that flap of skin had hung over his brother's lips and fluttered with each ragged, watery breath he'd taken. How Kenzo had gagged as blood had pooled into his panting mouth. Shunsui had jeered at such weakness.

A hard lump settled in his throat as he continued his quick inventory of his brother. His brother stood tall, but his shoulders were slightly askew (the _pop_ of a violently displaced shoulder had tickled Shunsui at the time). That cavernous scar mangled his expression, turning his once handsome brother into more of a beast.

Kenzo's lip curled as he looked down on his younger brother, and Shunsui felt hot fury erupt from amidst his guilt. His fist curled and nose flared. Did he _forget_ how Shunsui had laughed when he'd parted Kenzo's flesh from his bones? How he'd mocked his brother's wretched cries? Shunsui could have ripped him apart! How dare he stand there—back straight, pride intact—as if Shunsui couldn't possibly tear everything down around him.

The beat of silence passed.

"I will make this quick." Kenzo's eyes narrowed, as if waiting for a flippant interruption, but Shunsui's jaw had locked in fury. The swollen edges of Kenzo's scar had made a mess of his mouth, and Shunsui took sadistic pleasure in it. "I can no longer tolerate your presence. It's clear you're a danger. Therefore," with this he pulled a document from his desk and sat, "you will be attending the Shinigami Academy this upcoming term. Classes begin in two days time, and the welcoming ceremony is tomorrow. You will leave in the next six hours. Goodbyes aren't necessary." He finished and waved the parchment about to dry the ink before sliding it across his desk. Scowling, Shunsui took it, staring instead at his brother's infuriatingly clean, manicured hands. Remembering when they'd been bloody and torn as he'd tried to claw his way away from Shunsui. "Present that to the staff there. It's your enrollment."

Shunsui glared at the form.

"Perhaps you will even die with honor."

Shunsui's gaze shot up. He wanted to argue. Gods knew he wanted to rage. But with his brother's blatant hatred, and the other men's pitiless silence, his objections died beneath the wave of his own outrage. He rose, bowed, and left.

He had six hours to get shit-faced.

~.~

Silence ruled as the door slid shut.

"You did well, my lord."

Kenzo tore his glare from the door and leveled it at Takumi's pointlessly pleasant expression. "I've fallen behind in my work," he said, glowering at his manager until he looked away. Kenzo needed no coddling from the likes of him. "Give me your reports."

Kai startled as if struck before diving into his account of the estate.

Kenzo crossed his arms as he listened, loathing how his hands trembled.

~.~

There were few locations in the entirety of the Soul Society as naturally handsome as the Shinigami Academy. With the setting sun casting a marvelous glow about the campus, the incoming students passing its gates were awed by so fine a setting. Each building stood with brooding dignity. Their mighty stature blanketed the incoming populous with grand shadows. A gentle breeze upset dozens of wind chimes, and hushed the new pupils, as if they were treading on sacred temple grounds instead of a rigid military facility.

It was in the center of a green yard, indeed the center of the whole campus, that the most opulent edifice stood, towering well above its neighbors. The rooms and offices of the staff were housed within its walls. In fact, it was the only building strictly prohibited from student access—not that many dared approach anyway. For it was a tangled web of thick and sharp and large and heavy reiatsu the like of which most had never felt. And above it all, one reiatsu stood out from the rest. Built into its fifth story, the balcony doors of a large office opened to allow for a view of the large courtyard beneath it. With the dimming light, the balcony had the most picturesque view of the Academy. Its was breathtakingly beautiful.

A lone, aged figure stood at the balcony's edge, watching the incoming crowd of students with a blankness he usually reserved for only the dullest of meetings. His eyebrows, long and bushy as they were, had begun to part from his face and were a stubborn presence by their owner's eyes. His beard and moustache, not to be outdone by so small a competitor, hung proudly to his chest. So great was their weight and so mighty the fear of their owner, not even the passing breeze stirred them from the chest they rested upon.

Rigid stoicism stiffened the man's shoulders. Uncompromising honor braced his spine. The only movement that veritable statue allowed himself was his finger's slow, rhythmic tapping against the hilt of his blade. Not even the sudden appearance of a familiar reiatsu stirred him into motion.

"This class possesses impressive reiatsu," the voice commented behind him.

His nose twitched in absent irritation. "They also have meddling families."

The newly-arrived light-haired man rose from his military seiza and went to stand at his superior's side. "Indeed, sir. And it seems they've only grown more troublesome."

Only his long-suffering, amber eyes shifted to his subordinate. "How do you mean?"

His companion jerked at the hem of his shihakuso, smoothing out shunpo-induced wrinkles. "I've just been to see our admission list. It seems we have our first Heir Apparent. From the Ukitake family." He studied his ever-grim taicho's reiatsu and sensed little change as always. The old man's answering grunt, however, took him by surprise.

"The sickly one."

The younger man couldn't halt his raised brow. "Sickly?"

His wrinkled fingers ceased their incessant tapping. "There are rumors. Of the boy's fragility."

This statement sent the remaining brow to find company with its brother. "I wasn't aware you were interested in political rumors, Eijisai-dono."

"Politics is my bane. Not my interest." The young man bowed his head in acceptance. Silence fell between them as they watched their incoming students march through the entrance. The chatter and laughter of hundreds of young people only just reached the balcony and filled the quiet between them.

"This goes on much longer and we'll find ourselves overrun with more nobles looking for glory," Genryusai muttered to himself.

His lips pursed at the age-old complaint. "Is there another option, sir?" The sudden silence surprised him into turning to Genryusai. The old man continued to stare at the crowd in the distance. Genryusai's distaste for nobles was ancient, and he'd complained of their influence in the Gotei 13 for at least a century. It was always a repeat of the same script. Why now this deviation from his usual grunts and grumbles?

An idea struck him, and his eyes narrowed at his superior. "You mean to tame the Rukongai?"

Without obvious movement, the caverns lining Genryusai's face deepened. "The greater numbers would be to our advantage. And it will stop those highborn leeches from turning the Gotei into their blade."

He turned forward once more and lowered his chin. "Very good, sir."

The thickening silence between them would have stifled most company. "Your silence is deafening, Sasakibe-fukotaicho. Speak."

Chojiro clasped his hands behind him. "It won't be easy, Eijisai-dono." He took his superior's silence as invitation to continue. "If you've heard rumors of a sickly minor noble surely you've heard whispers of the Rukongai."

"Indeed."

His eyes flickered to his taicho's and for once he was looking back. "She is not to be underestimated."

Genryusai's reiatsu rose in suffocating displeasure. "I haven't survived this long by underestimating my enemies, Fukotaicho."

Chojiro forced air into his lungs to reply. "Of course, sir. My apologies."

~.~

 _"You are fortunate, students. For today you've embarked on an adventure few before you have undertaken. . ."_

Jushiro, seated as he was in those odd high chairs and desks, couldn't halt the spastic twitching of his knee, so great was his energy.

The Shinigami Academy was an awesome sight! Mesmerizing in its size and grandeur, Jushiro had been struck speechless as he'd passed its lofty gates, as had many of those beside him. He'd been carried by the crowd to the vast hall he now found himself, and his neck had ached with the force of his oscillating. He hadn't wanted to miss a thing.

 _"The path you've chosen is long and arduous with no small danger. Learn quickly and you will live. The lazy and stupid will not survive here. . ."_

Once inside the gates, the new students had been separated from the upperclassmen and herded to the great hall they now found themselves. Glancing around, Jushiro estimated at least a hundred, perhaps a hundred fifty, new peers around him. He eyed them critically, taking in postures and builds, even their intentness on the opening speech. How could he not? When any one of them could be his greatest competition.

 _"This first term will determine the path of your training. Therefore, your performances in the coming weeks are crucial. . ."_

Anxiety at the thought of mediocrity halted his knee mid-bounce. What if he didn't measure up? What if Kohei had only spouted flattery at him?

He swallowed thickly and focused on slowing his breathing, grateful his lungs didn't even twinge. It would do no good to worry himself on such things, especially since there was so little evidence to base them on. Though logical, such reasoning did nothing to stop his dampening palms.

 _"You'll each be given a roommate, assigned to you randomly. In coming terms, you'll be bunked with a student of similar ability. Requests for transfer are permitted but rarely granted. You are not at home anymore, gentlemen, and we are not your mothers. Expect no partiality for we have none to give. . ."_

The speaker moved on to other dire warnings, and Jushiro felt his gaze begin to wander. At the front, just behind the orator, a long table seated what looked to be around twenty instructors. Their combined reiatsu had been fierce enough to cause several new students to stagger to their seats. Fortunately, Jushiro made his smug way to a desk with relative ease, and marked those who didn't as weak. As the speech wore on, however, an elderly man with lava-like reiatsu had even Jushiro panting from his oppressive presence.

 _"Rise and show respect to your new leader: Genryusai Yamamoto-soutaicho. . ."_

The screeching of more than a hundred of moving chairs tore through the air as every young man jerked from his seat. Jushiro in his haste attempted to rise to his feet without even raising his head, for even the lowest of servants had heard of Yamamoto. Silence finally reigned, and Jushiro tilted his head up just enough to see.

In the time it had taken for them to rise, Genryusai Yamamoto, founder of the Shinigami Academy, lead reformer of the Gotei 13, and wielder of the greatest known fire-type zanpakuto, had made his way to the front, further silencing the already hushed crowd.

~.~

A wave of powerful reiatsu washed across the students, and Shunsui cursed from his bowed position as his knees creaked and head pounded.

"Sit."

The commanding voice sent everyone collapsing to their seats. Shunsui, ignoring his hangover-induced nausea's pleas for quiet, made a minor spectacle of himself. He made more noise than necessary, and ensured he was the last wto his chair. He'd be damned before he bowed and scraped for some dusty old man.

Despite Shunsui's miniature rebellion, once he'd settled even a pin drop could have been heard, so heady was the silence. "I have little time and even less patience for foolishness." How could a mere voice, spoken with such slow severity, make even the walls quake? The distance hid his expression from Shunsui, and the young man couldn't help but feel a secret relief he wasn't in one of the front rows.

"Children," he barked. "Tonight will be your last night of freedom. Tomorrow, you belong to the Gotei 13. I will tolerate no weak constitutions. No insubordination." Even from where he sat, Shunsui could see his lip curl. "Before your heads hits your pillows, some of you may discover you're weak-willed and spineless. If that is you, don't bother going to class tomorrow. I will not have my energy wasted on babes playing soldier."

A weighty reiatsu settled across the room once more, and Shunsui had to force his lungs to expand as his heart pounded painfully in his ears. "For those who wish to test their merit, morning drills begin at dawn." A heated glare swept across the students. "Tardiness will not be tolerated."

~.~

Unfortunately, Shunsui's inability to understand punctuality resulted in more physical punishment than he'd ever endured. Running and jumping, climbing and crawling. In that first half-hour, so much sweat and dirt and mud caked him that others began to lean away at his approach, so potent was his stench. Perhaps it wouldn't have been as bad had he stopped shooting arrogant smirks to his instructor. But he hadn't. And he now walked to the first class exhausted beyond anything he'd experienced. Luckily, they'd all been allowed to shower before donning their new uniforms, and Shunsui reveled in his previously unappreciated cleanliness.

His exhaustion was only compounded by the presence of Kazuki Matsumura, his new roommate. Shunsui had never shared anything in his life, and had been dismayed at the thought of a roommate. Upon meeting Kazuki, he found his hesitancy justified. Small for his age and impossibly annoying, Kazuki hadn't been able to mask his delight when he'd discovered he was rooming with a Kyoraku. Even now he prattled on and on about his family as they walked to their first class, ignoring Shunsui's obvious dismissal of him.

It was to Kazuki's incessant chatter that they entered one of the campus' many training halls, and with dozens of racks of practice blades scattered around the room, their task was all too obvious. The room itself was vast and had four giant mats covering the floor. Each mat had four or five imposing instructors waiting for the arrival of their students.

The class was divided into four groups and training began. Not even a quarter of an hour passed before Shunsui realized how horribly outclassed his classmates were. Most had unbalanced stances and weak grips, were bumbling and fearful, and his own roommate was particularly useless.

Boredom—the worst of Shunsui's vices—quickly seized him. Normally thrilled to cross blades with another, Shunsui instead felt only detached as he easily dispatched each of his opponents. It wasn't long before Shunsui noticed his instructors whispering and eyeing him. At every glance and not-so-subtle gesture, he became more indifferent.

Shunsui knew he was more than good. Not because he was arrogant (though he certainly was), but because facts were facts. Nothing felt more at home in hand then a sword. There was nothing sweeter to the ear than the sound of a whistling blade. His sword was an extension of himself, and he felt it to his very core. And as is the case with most prodigies, Shunsui look down on those ungifted in his art.

Shunsui was called forward to spar again, his opponent frail like a girl. He lifted his blade, and even his sword seem to sigh with him.

~.~

With a final sweep of his feet, Jushiro knocked his opponent to his back and lunged, pinning him with a sword to the throat. Their instructor called the match to Jushiro, and both rose and bowed to each other.

There were plenty decent swordsman, Jushiro decided, having spent the last couple hours sparring. But they were not at his caliber. There were a few brutes that gave him trouble, but Jushiro, having realized long ago he was not gifted with great strength, made up for it with speed and tactics. Only one, his new roommate Naoto Hirano, managed to stand more than a couple seconds with him.

The class finished with Jushiro in high spirits. He done well, if his instructors nods meant anything. And his chest hadn't so much as twinged.

A good day, he thought. And he left for the next class with a grin on his face.

~.~

After a half-hour lunch, the class was ushered to the large kido practice field at on the edge of the campus and divided into groups once again. Whereas the previous class was a demonstration of every student's skill, this one was dedicated to instruction. Each instructor gathered for himself a handful of students and walked them through the basics of kido: sensing, manipulating, and manifesting.

Shunsui, aware yet unfamiliar with his reiatsu, performed each task the way any seasoned athlete took to a new skill. A bit awkwardly—as it had yet been committed to muscle memory—but with far greater ease and grace than the average person. All that to say, he did well considering, and was by far one of the betters in his class.

Three-quarters way through the lesson, Shunsui stood off to the side, waiting his turn to be tested, bored as ever. He'd since occupied his time in his own head, getting a feel for his own mind, stretching and pressing to test his own limits.

Reiatsu intrigued him. He'd always been aware of the bubbling force in his mind, but he'd never bothered with it, assuming it was normal to have a thick, stagnant, pulsing force within him. Knowing now it could manipulated and explored, Shunsui had never been so excited to be left with his own thoughts.

So there he stood amongst his peers, eyes half-closed as he dove into himself. Further and further until he wondered if there was a limit to this vibrant and thick and electrifying new world. At least until he hit a wall so unyielding no amount of mental straining granted him access.

He stared at this wall indignantly. How dare a part of his own power be blocked off to himself. Annoyed, he struck the barrier with as much mental force as he could muster. The strike echoed sinisterly in his own mind, he nervously looked around, seeing nothing. Suddenly the hairs on his neck snapped to attention, and he instinctively catapulted himself from the depths of his mind just in time to be called forward by an instructor.

Shaken by such a primal reaction to—as far as he could tell—nothing, Shunsui fell back to what he knew, and went back to class to make a spectacle of himself. And he certainly didn't think on how horrifying it would be if you could be watched in your own mind.

~.~

On the other side of the class, Jushiro was unknowingly in the same state as Shunsui: bored beyond comprehension.

Kido was as natural as breathing for him. From a young age he'd been able to sense the tide of his power and had since grown familiar with its ebb and flow and crackling intensity. It rose immediately at his beckoning, and Jushiro was capable of using it as a battering ram, easily sending it crashing into his opponent like a tsunami as he had with Kohei.

These basic tests hardly required his attention, and even as his instructors came with increasingly difficult tasks, his performance far outclassed most of his classmates. However, as the class wore on Jushiro noticed a girl (one of only three in his class) who performed each drill with nearly as much ease. He eyed her technique, and his lips pursed. Up until now, Jushiro hadn't come up against competition of any kind, and now that he found her he could think of little else.

Her sun-beaten face was blank with every performance, a sure sign of her effortless control. Long limbs summoned her kido with casual quickness that spoke of long familiarity. No matter what was asked of her, like Jushiro, she performed with a silent efficiency that had the approval of their instructor.

Bordering on manic, Jushiro took to the drills with greater gusto, determined that she not outshine him. He pushed himself, making each incantation faster and stronger than any of hers.

He was not to be outdone by the likes of her.

~.~

Shunsui watched the spar in front of him with a jealous gleam in his eye. The combatants moved almost faster than he could track, their fluid movements belying the strength behind each strike. They jumped and dodged each other, seeming to read the other's mind, until their demonstration match was called to a halt. Both bowed and faced the class, bruises already forming were blows had landed.

Hakuda, his instructor began. The most common style of hand-to-hand combat in the Gotei 13. And according to Shunsui, by far the most intriguing. Neither he nor his brother were formally trained in hakudo. It was seen as little better than common street brawling in the Kyoraku House, with none of the finesse and grace of zanjutsu. To say Shunsui's interest was piqued would be an understatement.

When it came time for his turn to spar, Shunsui took to the mat with a bit of apprehension. He won of course, with the same awkward grace he'd performed kido with. It certainly helped that the white-haired opponent he'd faced had been less skilled than himself.

Even with his flighty mind, Shunsui's attention was keenly held by his instructors, a feat in and of itself. He reveled in the new exercise even as his hand itched for his blade, and he left the class superbly pleased with himself. For what young man didn't love the idea of beating his enemies with his bare hands.

~.~

Jushiro, on the other hand, left their hakuda class infuriated. He was by far one of the weakest in that class, and he couldn't see how he could quickly improve. Hand-to-hand combat required far too much caution from him. Get hit just right in the chest or have the wind knocked out of him, and it'd be all too easy to succumb to a coughing fit.

No. Jushiro quickly wrote off hakuda. He was fairly certain he'd stick to zanjutsu.

~.~

Several Weeks Later

As the stars made their entrance on to their nightly stage, they brought with them a breeze so frigid that, while it sharpened their own beauty, it forced two young women to take refuge inside the Ukitake estate.

It was a late and free evening, as their attire suggested. The thick yukatas were old and horribly out of fashion. Each bore colors of faded quality and hems with frayed edges. Yet for all their wear and tear, the years had only endeared them to the women. That coupled with their messily done hair and freshly scrubbed faces only further spoke of the confidence and acceptance the two women found in each other.

Giggles and chatter filled the air. The night had been full of fanciful talk and shared gossip, teasing and grins. Entertaining no doubt, but of little value. That is, until the women shut themselves in Kimi's bedroom:

"So since _you_ won't broach the topic, I shall," declared one of the women. Kimi raised a brow at her friend in question.

Akira Masuda occupied the position of Kimi's closest friend. Tall for a Japanese woman and impossibly witty, Akira was very nearly Kimi's complete physical opposite. Kimi was the more delicate and petite of the two while Akira was as bold in body as Kimi was in word. Her jaw was unapologetically square, and her eyes deep and dark. Kimi was a pretty maiden. Akira a lush and intimidating beauty.

"I've heard talk recently. Not from _you_ , I might add. A poor friend you are indeed."

Though suddenly anxious at the thought of rumors, Kimi rolled her eyes at her friend's dramatics. "What talk?"

"Talk of a recent guest of yours." Her brows raised in sardonic question as her eyes gleamed.

"A guest?"

"A guest. I was at a party at the Shimabukuro House and I had a group of shrews approach and attempt to smooze information from me. Naturally, I had no such thing, but I thought to myself surely these were baseless rumors. After all, my dear Kimi would have told me of such an important event."

Kimi shifted uncomfortably in her seat as she was eyed by her friend.

"In case you'd forgotten, I'm your closest friend and am entitled—yes entitled," she declared at Kimi's sharp glare, "to information on the happenings of your life." At Kimi's continued disapproving look, Akira rolled her eyes. "And do spare me your pouts and silence."

A battle of wills ensued, Kimi with her embarrassed frustration and Akira with her patient expectation.

"Fine." She ignored how Akira brightened. "Kenzo Kyoraku visited us a couple weeks ago with his mother."

"His mother? Where was his father?"

Kimi's lips pinched. "'Indisposed,'" she quoted. They shared a look pointed distaste.

"And the reason for their visit?" Akira's innocent question did little to mask her avid curiosity.

 _Kimi had been reading in the library with Isamu—a rare moment of peace between them—when she'd been told the Kyoraku Head was present with his mother._

"You know, surely, of Kenzo Kyoraku's new status?"

Akira's lips split in a predatory grin. "Kimi, what are the odds you knew before me?"

Kimi nodded, cognizant of her friend's insatiable appetite for gossip and rumor.

 _The servant had told her she was to be expected within the hour, and to be ready when called upon. Kimi never lived a slower hour. Anxiously she'd waited, unable to read a page further._

 _"Are you nervous?"_

 _She had looked up to see Isamu eyeing her hesitantly. "No." She glanced at the door._

 _"Is he trying to marry you?" The question shocked Kimi, as it was said with curiosity and none of his usual disgust._

 _She thought back to the many gatherings of that season, and how each time they were together Kenzo had politely sought her out. Had caught her up in conversation, had even on occasion deemed her worthy of a smile. His mysterious scar, though it mangled his mouth and made him seem a fair bit beastly, had done precious little to diminish his quiet charm. "I don't know."_

 _Isamu's gaze felt heavy on her, his perusal sharper than Jushiro's and just as penetrating. He finally looked back to his book. "There's nothing to worry about. If it's not about marriage then everything goes back to normal. If it is," there he shrugged, "you could do worse than marrying the head of a clan."_

 _Kimi nodded numbly. Though she was grateful for her brother's uncharacteristic comfort, her stomach still churned at the thought of leaving the library. Somewhere on the estate was a man who might be attempting to bind her to him for the rest of her life. And though Kenzo had proven amiable in his quiet and stoic way, Kimi still hardly knew him. There wasn't an unmarried noblewoman who hadn't heard whispers of marital abuse among their peers. There wasn't a noblewoman who didn't dread it, and Kimi was only slightly braver than they._

 _"Fear doesn't suit you, Nee-san."_

 _Insulted and embarrassed, Kimi whipped round, acidic words already half-formed, when Isamu's grave look silenced her._

 _"Our parents won't let anything happen to you. Neither will Jushiro-ani." He turned again to his tome, red slowly creeping up his neck and tinging his ears. "And I most certainly won't either._

 _Struck dumb, she could only stare until the servant came to call, sparing her from attempting a response. She'd left the library without a backwards glance, ignoring the affectionate warmth that had bubbled within her._

"That was kind of your brother."

Kimi shrugged.

"Well what happened when you arrived?"

"I was called to dine with them and so I did. It was as dull as you can imagine."

 _They were only half an hour into the meal, and Kimi was already deliriously bored. When she'd arrived she'd been greeted warmly by her parents and politely by the Kyorakus before being swiftly ushered to the table._

 _And now they sat, her father engaged with Kenzo while their mothers exchanged pleasantries, leaving Kimi to sit and do what was expected of her. Namely to look pretty and keep the tea cups filled. Both of which she did superbly. It was after she had again refilled their cups that she found the opportunity to study the Kyorakus in detail. While she'd frequently seen both those past few months, she'd never really looked at them, and it was odd having them in her home._

 _Kenzo was as grave and regal as ever. He sat with perfect posture in his handsome navy blue kimono, paying rapt attention to her father as they discussed land and trade. Kimi sipped her tea as she eyed the two._

 _They were complete opposites in everything but stature for both were tall men. Yuudai was lean where Kenzo was broad. Her father was pale and by far the hairier man. Kenzo had sun-kissed skin with a smooth and hairless face. One was animated and genial, the other unflappable and rigid. Even so, to Kimi it seemed they got on well enough, and she was greatly relieved._

 _Kenzo had suddenly glanced her way before quickly looking back to Yuudai. Kimi took another sip of her tea._

 _His mother on the other hand._

 _Reina Kyoraku. A severe looking woman if ever there was one. A slight frown had permanently puckered the space between her thin brows. Since the meal began her mouth had formed into a disapproving line. Her chin was sharp, her frame slight. Her kimono, of the highest fashion, was at odds with the modest bun pulled tightly on top of her head. Cold ambition was obvious in the tilt of her chin. Pride could be seen in every movement. Where Hana was full of maternal warmth, Reina had only icy haughtiness. They could not be more different._

 _Reina, unlike her son, didn't spare her a glance._

"So Lord Kyoraku takes after his crone of a mother."

"It would seem so."

 _"Ukitake-sama."_

 _Kimi started at such a formal address and stared at Kenzo. As the head of an entire clan he was under no obligation to be so deferential to Yuudai, a minor noble at best._

 _"I confess to have been stalling. There is a purpose to my sudden visit, if you'll allow."_

 _Yuudai smiled kindly. "Of course, Kyoraku-sama."_

 _Shocked again as she watched Kenzo shift uncertainly and clear his throat. "Also forgive this breach of custom. Normally my father would be here to discuss this with you, but as I am the new Head the task falls to me." Yuudai nodded. "If it pleases you and the Lady," he nodded to Hana, "I'd like to discuss—," here he fumbled with his words._

 _Kimi couldn't help her slight smirk and could feel her mother just ooze with satisfaction. Reina, on the other hand, shot her son a sharp look._

 _He cleared his throat. "To discuss a union of our families."_

 _Pin drop silence._

 _Yuudai's face broke into a grin; Hana reached under the table to grasp Kimi's fingers._

"Soul King above!" cried Akira, hopping up from her seat. "You're getting married! Wait." She settled suddenly into her seat. "You are getting married, aren't you?"

Kimi shrugged. "My father said we must discuss it, but I'm sure they'll agree.

"And that old Kyoraku biddy agreed as well? I can't believe it!"

"She said it suited her."

A few seconds passed in silence as Akira let the news settle. "Kimi Kyoraku." Kimi shot a flaming look at her grinning friend. "I like it."

Akira immediately dove into Her plans The Wedding of the Century, and Kimi tuned her out.

 _The rest of the dinner passed with palpable excitement on the part of her parents. Both fairly bounced in their seats while Kimi instead kept a rigid hold on herself._

 _Marriage._

 _Her heart pounded painfully, and it was with an iron will that she beat down her panic._

 _Kenzo had caught her eye after her parents had turned their attention to Reina and froze her in her seat. Barely breathing, she watched his marble expression soften minutely before the corners of his mouth tipped up. He looked away again, and Kimi frowned. She simply didn't know what to think. Everything was going to change._

Kimi rolled her eyes as her friend prattled on. Several days and anxiety attacks later, Kimi Ukitake found her resolve. Kenzo Kyoraku was just a man. And as intimidating as he and his mother were, she knew she was also was a force to be reckoned with.

 _Fear doesn't suit you, Nee-san._

No it sure as hell didn't. The Kyorakus would do well to stay out of her way.

~.~

 _The carriage pulled away from the Ukitake estate in silence._

 _"Have I upset you Okaa-sama?"_

 _Thin lips pressed even thinner. "You did a poor job of controlling yourself."_

 _He nodded gravely. "Forgive me, I lost myself."_

 _"You'd do well not to get distracted by a pretty face. It'll lead to your destruction." Both knew of whom she spoke._

 _"Of course." His clipped tones masked his irritation. Silence fell. "I believe my lapse will work in our favor."_

 _"How so?"_

 _"Yuudai Ukitake is an honest man. He would be one to value transparency. And I was nervous."_

 _Her thin arms crossed. "As you say."_

 _The ride continued in silence._

~.~

Autumn's peak came and went. The tree's bold burst of color had passed and now more leaves littered the ground than hung in their branches. Winter was on the horizon, foretold by the heralding of icy winds. And though the seasons changed around them, the students of the Shinigami Academy only further settled into their new lives.

Jushiro, as the weeks wore on, became the unspoken favorite among and staff and students alike. And as his popularity soared so to did his skill. Never before had he been able to devote so much time to practice. So improved was he that he'd yet to face someone of his own caliber, and though he hid it well, youthful arrogance took root in him. Regardless of his newfound pride, Jushiro was held in high esteem by all.

Shunsui as well made quite a name for himself, rising, unlike Jushiro, to infamy. He was quite the enigma, and far more admired by the students than the staff. Adored and loathed. Both welcomed and merely tolerated. His talents were as undeniable as his laziness; his charm as smooth as it was irritating. Teachers threw their hands up in frustration while the students rejoiced for no one could sneak a drink on campus quite like Kyoraku.

Both young men had heard of and seen the other. When asked, both could say they'd met. However, though their social circles were close they never touched. And their first semester passed with little interaction between them.

* * *

A/N: Sorry for the delayed post. I changed a large part of the story and couldn't get this chapter to come together like I liked. Normally I wouldn't post unless I was completely satisfied with it, but after several months of just staring at it, I couldn't figure out what else was needed.

Also, let me know if the italicized flashbacks were confusing to follow. I'm still not sure if I like it, but if it makes the story too hard to read I can change it.

Lastly, because I changed a big part of my story, i had to change a single line from the last chapter. Basically I took out the line that said Shunsui wouldn't speak to Ayaka for two decades since it won't fit anymore. Other than that the story is the same!

I swear I'll have shorter authors notes in the future.


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